


Of Blue and Grey

by scarredsodeep



Category: AFI
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Angst, Choose Your Own Ending, Humor, M/M, Possible Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-09-24
Updated: 2006-09-24
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 35,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarredsodeep/pseuds/scarredsodeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam Carson came from a world of glamor, fame, and fortune. He was beyond human; he was practically a god. When he meets Jade Puget, will it be enough to make him human again? Or will his lies break the already fragile young man he's fallen in love with? (Summary from Morticia Havok.) </p><p>One had become so numb, he couldn't remember what love felt like. The other was so broken, he wouldn't let anyone show him what love could be. Thrown together, what will they become? (Thanks to RobinNicole for the summary.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blotspotters Anonymous

The moment he heard his name, he knew he was toast.

It was barely a whisper. Any other man would have written it off to imagination.

But not him. Not Adam Carson.

The echo, slightly shriller, of that very name only confirmed his fears. Doubling his already brisk pace, Adam elbowed through the group of shoppers in front of him, plowing down the sidewalk at top speed. The whispers, spreading like wildfire, lapped excitedly at his heels.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned into his Trio. “Not again.”

“I think you’re getting paranoid in your old age, Ad,” his best friend and manager crackled in his ear. “You’re in Scenetown, California. At best, you’re gonna get pegged as the guy who sort of looks like the guy in that one commercial or maybe it was a movie. Or maybe Conor Oberst’s brother. No one cares about movie stars in Ukiah. It’s all music there.”

“No way, Hunt,” Adam insisted, scanning storefronts wildly for something small enough to disappear into. Starbucks was a no, good as coffee sounded. He’d rather die than go into a small hardware store… a clothing store for empty-nest women who tried to be trendy, another no… “I definitely heard it. There’s some fucking fangirl tailing me.”

Hunter sighed, quirking an eyebrow. Safe in his hotel room and a few states over, Adam’s peril was nothing more than a passing amusement. Not that he dared to laugh. “Look, Carson. The way I see it, either you spend your whole fortune on massive- in both size and ugliness- sunglasses and ridiculously high-collared jackets, that you will insist on wearing and zipping all the way even in the middle of the fucking summer, or you face the fact that everything you’ve ever dreamed for has come true and you’re a goddamn movie star and even your fucking pinkie toe is oh-my-god-Becki-that’s-Adam-Carson famous.”

“You know what I want?” Adam moaned, barely dodging a homicidal baby stroller. “I want to be a normal guy. Just for ONE day. I want to be an unrecognized _nobody_. Not Adam Carson. Not the war hero or the dark and brooding stranger or the lovestruck fool in some dumb-ass musical. Just some random, unrecognized GUY!”

“How about a young alien-slaying general? Does that work for you? Because I just got an email from Spielberg’s people, and apparently-”

Adam, however, was no longer listening to Hunter, if he had ever been. No matter what he might think, fame had gone to his head- he fancied himself and his problems more important than anything else on earth. Even his best friend.

“I found it,” Adam announced triumphantly over his friend’s voice. “I found my escape.”

“Oh please, tell me of your genius plan,” Hunter intoned dryly, not a little bit annoyed.

Adam obliged. “It’s a bookstore. No self-respecting fangirl would expect their dreamy-eyed, empty-headed idol to be in a place called ‘Blotspotters’.”

Hunter’s exasperated sigh was cut off as Adam hung up on him, bursting into the small, shabby bookstore that he had decided was the perfect haven- bursting in and nearly plowing into a giant display featuring his own face. Grown over with a rough beard, hair down to his collar, and a ridiculous lace thing at his neck, but his face nonetheless. More specifically, it was his face in the role of Christoph Bennett, and it was beaming at him from the cover of Love’s Tragedy, the best-selling novel he’d starred in the blockbusting movie adaptation of.

Adam whimpered low in his throat, shoving a few books off the display. Lifeless, they thudded dully to the ground, and a bored voice interrupted Adam’s misery from behind the register.

“You better fucking put those back,” said the young guy behind the counter, glancing up from his dusty paperback with venom in his eyes. “I hate that piece of illiterate shit as much as anyone, but I spent a good half hour on that display and I’ll be damned if you’re gonna walk in here and fuck it up.”

Dread bit into Adam’s gut and he froze. Just wait for it, he figured. He was standing next to a hundred little pictures of his own face- the guy would recognize him in seconds. “It wasn’t that bad,” Adam defended his role half-heartedly, hoping to delay the recognition. “I mean, it was kind of cliché, but-”

“‘Kind of cliché’? Did you even _read_ it?” the guy asked, getting to his feet and walking around the counter. He was tall and skinny, what would be called gangly if not for his already apparent grace. His eyes were captivation, big and dark and deep, and if he hadn’t been scowling, he probably would have been quite attractive. Even with his lips twisted up, he was remarkably pretty. His hair was a muddy reddish-brown, cut short. On the back of his neck, where it was growing out, the pieces were starting to curl gently. He was wearing a thin black necklace, ripped black jeans, and a faded blue Blotspotters t-shirt. He had black-framed glasses hiding his eyes and his smudged nametag read ‘Jade’. Adam sized him up in a matter of seconds, taking his appearance as his value in the way only a child of Hollywood could. _I like his shoes_ , Adam noted to himself, nodding approval at the black Sambas.

“No,” Adam admitted, snugging a smirk across his features. He had decided he liked what he saw. And there was a perk to being drop-dead famous- he could get any man or woman he wanted. No one had liked him for him in years, but he used moments like this one to pretend it didn’t matter.

“Oh, so you just saw the movie and passed judgment on the book because of it?” Jade asked disgustedly, sneering at his display. “People are so LAZY. No one ever bothers to READ anymore, especially not when they can just flip on the TV and rot their brains…”

Adam let Jade’s impassioned rant melt into background noise. He was confused. Jade hadn’t recognized him. He’d hit the crucial point, where even the most oblivious of people suddenly realized that they were face to face with GQ’s latest coverboy and America’s favorite pair of blue eyes. And he’d passed it right by, diving into a lecture without even noticing.

And suddenly Adam had an idea. Part of him was mortally offended that he hadn’t been recognized- and the other part realized that this was his big chance.

 _Wrong_ , his conscience immediately chimed in. _That is so ridiculously wrong. You can’t just LIE to him!_

The other part of his brain argued, _It’s just for one day. One day as a human, as a real person. One day as a nobody. After that I’ll tell him. Or go home. Yeah; I’ll just go home. He’ll never even know. What’s so wrong about that?_

Jade’s rant had finally wound down, and he looked slightly sheepish for exploding at Adam.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t judge the _movie_ by the _book_ ,” Adam challenged, feeling Jade out, making sure he was really clueless enough for his plan to work. “A lot of people liked it.”

“Did you?” asked Jade brusquely.

Adam thought hard about his answer. He’d had to adopt a stupid English accent for the part, and the costumes had been poorly made. The script was dull and the heroine was stuck-up and had the intellect and maturity of a third grader. And he’d hated the director.

“No,” he concluded, “but the sets were beautiful. England’s gorgeous that time of year.” He immediately caught his slip-up and winced. This was already harder than he’d thought it would be.

Jade laughed. “Oh, like they filmed it in England. It was probably the first field they came across.”

“No, it was-” Adam stopped himself. No normal, average, run-of-the-mill guy would know where a bad chick flick had been filmed. And he was all of those things, now.

“And I _hate_ that actor,” Jade went on. As impressive as his scowl had been, he seemed pretty eager to chat. “God. This book is the only one we’ve sold in days and it’s all because of that dumb-ass piece of eye candy on the cover.”

Adam swallowed hard, immediately bristling. “You don’t know him,” he said defensively, unable to stop himself. “You might be wrong.”

Jade raised his eyebrows, look incredulous. “Oh, and I suppose you _do_ know him? Sure, I COULD be wrong. But we both know damn well that I’m not. I mean, look at him.” Jade held up one of the books. “Look at those round, blue eyes. Look at that empty grin. Can you say vapid? This guy’s as deep as a puddle.”

Adam shifted uncomfortably, staring into his own eyes. _I’m not so bad_ , he thought to himself. _Am I?_

“See, you’ve got pretty blue eyes too, but not like this guy. You’ve got some depth behind yours,” Jade went on, tossing the book back haphazardly and studying Adam’s eyes, the flesh-and-eye-goo version this time.

And Adam thought that he was caught.

“I mean, you’re all wide blue innocence, just like this idiot. But you’ve got something going on, some kind of emotion. Some kind of _humanity_. You look pretty fucking freaked out, all this grey swirling around back there. But this guy… he’s either really dumb, or lonelier than either of us could ever fathom.”

Jade paused, then cocked his head at Adam, who was hardly daring to breathe, trying as hard as he could to look like anyone but himself.

“You don’t talk much,” Jade said finally, rocking back on his heels and ending the scrutiny. “That’s okay; I’m usually pretty quiet too. You’re the first thing with a pulse that’s come in that door all day; that’s why I can’t seem to shut up. Anyway, maybe you can at least give me a challenge. What’ll it be?”

Adam was taken off-guard by both Jade’s sudden friendliness and his seemingly meaningless question.

“What’ll what be?” he repeated blankly.

Jade’s flash of warmth was gone as quickly as it had come. He clearly had no patience for people he did not know; or perhaps, as Adam suspected, people in general.

“What did you come in here for. How can I help you. You know, that whole salesman thing? I’m assuming you’re looking for a book,” he added sarcastically, an exasperated prompt.

Adam was surprised to find himself blushing furiously. After a couple awkward sex scenes are set to throbbing music and your ass is gaped at by millions of people on a screen bigger than the house you grew up in, there’s not much left on earth that can make you blush.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Adam mumbled, still embarrassed. “Yeah, I want a book. I don’t- ah, I don’t know which one. maybe could you recommend a few titles?”

“Sure,” Jade said, rolling his eyes. “I could just rattle off our entire inventory. What _kind_ of book are you looking for, buddy? Narrow it down a bit.”

“Adam,” said Adam. “It’s Adam Car- uh, Carlton. You can call me that.”

Jade’s withering stare made Adam’s voice drop several octaves, slumping his shoulders and reminding him of that I-wish-I-was-invisible feeling he’d lost touch with some time in high school. “Uh, what were you reading? When I came in.”

“Before the molestation of my lovely display? I was reading Bright Lights Big City. I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s not very well known,” Jade relented.

Adam slowly grew more comfortable in his skin. He smiled for real, now, and not for the camera. He felt different from usual- more like himself. Not Adam Carson, not a movie star, not famous or even special. No, he was just a guy, an unexceptional guy who had grey churning behind his eyes.

“Sometimes things are better that way,” Adam said softly. And at that moment, the only clear thing in his eyes was that he meant it.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	2. Artificially Sweetened Dreams

Purchasing the book, however, was another problem entirely. Adam fumbled with his wallet, realizing in sudden panic that he couldn’t pay with a credit card, not when they were all emblazoned with his name. He also attempted to shield the large fold of fifties from Jade’s eyes; no average guy carried over eight hundred dollars cash in his wallet on a day to day basis. And Adam was determined to be average. He would’ve let the bills slip to the floor and left them there, if he thought for a second that Jade’s attentive brown eyes wouldn’t notice.

Jade eyes his panicked antics with disinterest, amusement playing about his lips. “You are the single clumsiest person I think I’ve ever met,” he observed. “First you’re knocking books all over the place, now you can hardly operate a wallet…”

“It’s a complicated mechanism,” Adam muttered, unnerved to find himself embarrassed a second time. So much for suave and handsome; he’d been demoted to a bumbling fool. He handed Jade the smallest bill he could dig up, not meeting the piercing eyes.

Jade rang him up quickly and moved to pick up his book, most likely relieved to get back to his reading.

“Wait,” Adam sputtered. He didn’t want to leave Jade. He wanted to stay normal for a little bit longer. Just one day, that was all he wanted. And hadn’t he earned that much?

Jade looked up, annoyed. He clearly had no such need for Adam.

“Lunch,” Adam managed. Thinking on his feet was not one of his chief talents. He could cry on command, though. That was a big one. “Have lunch with me.”

Jade’s eyebrows lifted. “Lunch?” he repeated, sounding as if there was a bad taste in his mouth.

“Yeah. Lunch,” Adam urged, relaxing a little bit. No need to be nervous once the words were already in the air. “C’mon. I’ll buy. Anywhere you want.”

“And why, pray tell, do you want to take a complete stranger out to lunch?” Jade asked appraisingly, eyebrows now in danger of leaving earth’s gravitational field altogether.

Adam grinned, showing his teeth. “I’m gonna drag you into a dark alley and murder you, of course,” he teased, surprised at how easy this was. How relaxed.

Jade nodded, almost smiling. “I have a black belt in all-around ass-kicking,” he warned Adam seriously. “I won’t go down easily.”

“Is that a yes?”

Jade shook his head, and Adam was suddenly furious. _No one_ said no to Adam Carson! He’d been on the cover of _People_ , for God’s sake.

“Why not?” Adam demanded, voice strained. It was very difficult to keep his outrage from showing. A normal guy would probably not be surprised that a bookstore clerk he’d just met did not want to accompany to lunch, he reminded himself.

It was also a stroke of luck, Adam belatedly realized. What if they’d gone out and someone had recognized him? His cover would’ve been blown, and his day of normalcy with it.

Meanwhile, Jade looked surprised that Adam had had to ask. “Well, Aaron—you said that was your name, right?—for one thing, I have no idea who are. For another, you’ve just informed me of a murder plot that involves your knife and my corpse. And if you really want me to roll out the reasons, there’s also the fact that leaving with you would leave the bookstore completely unstaffed and even though I close it for an hour around this time every day, if I ever get caught the old guy that owns this place will fire me faster than he can get out of a chair, which actually isn’t too quick and I’ll probably just get a warning first. And finally, I don’t want to feel indebted to you. Oh, and I just don’t like people. I could probably keep going, if you needed me to.”

“You already have lunch plans, don’t you,” Adam sighed, trying his best to seem offended instead of laughing at Jade’s excessive list. “Well, no need to let me down gently; the game is up. It’s clear that you’re enamored of another.”

The tips of Jade’s ears reddened and he interrupted Adam’s woe. “Not so much with that whole enamored thing. It’s my little brother. I promised I’d help him drag some stupid futon around today.”

Adam looked crestfallen, and Jade felt something abnormal tingle at him. It wasn’t so much pity as it was basic longing—he didn’t want to see this strange stranger go.

And he _hated_ people. All of them.

“Tell you what,” Jade proposed, mortified by his own words. “Why don’t you come with me? God knows that I’m too scrawny to be much use when it comes to heavy lifting.”

Adam’s outlook on life in general immediately brightened. He didn’t find Jade’s invitation nearly as strange as Jade did; it had been a long time since he’d taken part in the normal world. “I would love to,” Adam announced, famous smile resting confidently on his lips, clearly nowhere near as troubled as his new friend.


	3. Save A Horse

“Whoa. Did Jade make a friend?” were the first word’s out of Jade’s brother’s mouth.

Built more compactly than Jade, wiry arms bulging with veins and muscle, and manic grin that would put a serial killer to shame, the resemblance between cold, delicate Jade and his brother was hard to find.

“I’m Adam,” Adam said, hardly breathing as he waited for Jade’s brother to recognize him.

“Smith,” Jade’s brother said, wiping his hands absent-mindedly on his grey Army t-shirt. “You look… familiar,” he added, cocking his head at Adam, whose heart stopped beating.

“Well, he’s here,” Jade interrupted, clearly agitated, pushing past Smith and into the small apartment. “Can we get started?”

“Slow down, Jadey,” Smith insisted, ushering Adam inside. “I gotta remember this moment. Document it, maybe. ‘The Day Jade Made A Friend’. It could be become a national holiday!”

Adam caught himself blushing yet again as Jade glowered at Smith, snarling, “He’s NOT my friend. He’s just some psycho who wanted to have lunch with me.”

“And you agreed?” Smith pressed, smirking as he settled down onto the orange-ish futon that Jade was trying to lift. Aside from _that_ particular monstrosity, two living room featured bright green walls, yellowy carpet, a cracked wooden coffee table, and a large range of non-matching lamps.

“He threatened to kill me!” Jade protested, not giving up on his end of the futon.

Smith raised his eyebrows and Adam finally saw the family resemblance. “Kill _you_. This guy,” Smith said flatly.

“Yes!” Jade insisted, pulling upward as hard as he could.  
Smith glared at Adam, laying down. “And why didn’t you?”

“He’s barely important enough to kill,” Adam decided, laughing. Not because he thought it was particularly funny, but because he was so free, so relieved to just _be_.

Jade looked mortally offended, crossing his arms across his chest and dropping to the floor in a quite impressive pout.

“Well, now you’ve hurt his feelings,” Smith giggled, removing himself from the futon now that Jade had stopped trying to lift it. “As a reward for your conduct, I elect you assistant chief futon re-locater.”

Adam grinned, lifting his end of the futon easily. “Hey drama queen,” he called mockingly to Jade, nudging him with the corner of the orange monstrosity. “You gonna lend a hand?”

They had just finished settling the futon in its new habitat, a small plain bedroom that had been vacated purely for this relocation, when Adam’s Trio began to trill.

Smith wrinkled his nose. “I just _know_ that can’t be a MIDI version of ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’,” he said in flat disbelief. Adam fished out his phone blushing.

“My friend Hunter picked it out,” he mumbled, “strictly for the purpose of humiliating me.”

Jade almost smiled and Adam ducked into the hallway to take the call. The soothing murmur of the brothers’ voices followed him.

“You’re getting a new freaking ring tone,” Adam snarled by means of hello.

Hunter was unruffled by his best friend’s anger. “Really? I’ve always wanted to hear the polyphonic version of the Brady Bunch theme.”

Adam made a low sound that was not altogether different from a growl. “Just keep talking, Burgan. You’ve got thirty seconds.”

Hunter didn’t doubt that his friend would hang up on him, which was why he’d already taken the liberty of emailing the conversation they needed to have to Adam’s phone. “I need an answer on the Spielberg movie. Your screen test was apparently fabulous and they’ve dropped a rough figure.”

“No, I’ll want liberties,” Adam argued, voice of steel as he became all business. “Box office, merchandise, the works. 11% minimum but don’t go below 15, not until they strong-arm you. Let them think they’re-”

Pushing aside his annoyance at Adam telling him how to do his own job, which the boy wonder knew next to nothing about, Hunter gritted his teeth and explained, “They won’t give royalties, just cash. No negotiations till they’ve got you on a contract, and then there’s no obligation to refigure it. These people are worse than Alcatraz.”

“I’ve named my terms,” Adam insisted, reminding Hunter a bit of a child who was not getting his way. Before he could share this, however, he was met with a dial tone and barely restrained himself from throwing his phone off the balcony. “Actors,” he muttered darkly, “are just children who never got over the nonexistence of Santa Claus.”

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	4. The Ballad of Kevin and Jade

Once the futon removal was complete, Smith set about putting his room back together, which left Jade and Adam standing in the kitchen awkwardly. Jade was not accustomed to being a host and Adam was not used to being anything but worshipped, so neither of them were even remotely close to at ease. Adam was sitting at the kitchen table, Jade on the counter, and neither had spoken for two minutes and seventeen seconds when Jade finally said, “Um, we’re having a new couch delivered tomorrow, if you wanted to… you know… help again.”

Massively relieved, Adam didn’t put a thought to his one-day-only policy and nodded eagerly. “I’d love to,” he confirmed happily. Before silence could settle once again, he intervened with a merciful line of questioning. “So what brings you to Ukiah?”

Jade looked slightly startled. “My initial reaction was to not provide a stranger with the details of my life,” he said slowly, “but I suppose as you’re sitting in my kitchen, it’s too late for that. I was born here; for a while, I lived with Smith in LA, but when he finally gave up on his stupid little store, we came back here.”

“You like it that much?” Adam asked with too much enthusiasm and apparent surprise.

Jade looked at him oddly before conceding, “More like we didn’t know where else to go but home. Why’re you so interested?”

Never much for thinking on his feet, Adam lied clumsily, “Oh, I was just considering buying a house here. Looking around and all that.”

“That’s why you were at a bookstore instead of looking at houses in the area,” Jade nodded wisely. “Ah. Practical approach.”

“Well, it actually is, because I already have one,” Adam blundered wildly, regretting every new lie he produced. “A house, I mean. Um. Here.”

Jade stared at Adam as though he had just proclaimed grass to be orange. “Then why are you researching the area?”

“In case I. Um. Change my mind,” Adam tried pleadingly.

Jade refused to let up. “Yeah. Isn’t it too late to change your mind?”

“No, uh, because I’m not moved in yet,” Adam went on blindly, praying to God something would interrupt Jade’s train of thought.

“Why not? “Jade asked slowly, as though he found Adam to be very unintelligent. Which he probably did, and was probably right in doing, Adam reminded himself.

“I don’t own the house yet. I mean, not entirely.” Adam winced at his own words. “There are still… you know… _circumstances_.”

Jade’s eyebrows were now fully extended and his face made it clear he found the immaculate conception of the Easter Bunny more believable. His voice was unimpressed and bordering on disgusted. “And what does that mean?”

Adam laughed feebly. “Pretty much just that I’m sleeping in my car.”

This, finally, was something Jade could accept, the only problem being that Adam had not actually owned a car in at least three years. No need for one. “That blows,” Jade said appreciatively. “Me’n Smith did that for a while. Except the car wasn’t, um, technically ours and we spent a couple of nights in jail before the whole thing got cleared up.” He looked almost sheepish as he added the last bit.

“Jail, hm? Maybe I should try that. Beats the backseat, anyway,” Adam said seriously, keeping a straight face for mere seconds before they both started laughing.

“How long till you can move in?” Jade asked when they had finally calmed down.

 _How would it take me to get a house?_ Adam thought seriously before realizing how ridiculous he was being. Of course he wasn’t really going to buy a house; he wouldn’t even rent a _car_. “Probably only a few more days,” Adam lied, grateful at least that he’d be miles from Ukiah before the week was out. Back to his real life.

Which still wasn’t looking too good, not compared to this.

Jade nodded thoughtfully and there was a silence that implied Jade should invite Adam to stay with them. Both fiercely hoped that this would not happen- Adam knew that he would say yes in spite of his conscience, which would only hurt Jade in the long run. And Jade- well, Jade just didn’t want to get attached to anyone.

This unfortunate moment was when Smith made his way back into their lives. “Is Jade being a tool?” he sighed, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You can’t be too hard on him, Adam. He’s pushing you away to keep you from getting attached.”

Jade flinched as Smith spoke his exact thoughts.

“And why would he want to do that?” Adam asked cheerfully, glad for a change in topic.

“So I don’t end up with another Smith,” Jade muttered, shooting death from his eyes.

“Because he’s afraid of needing people,” Smith said brightly, ignoring the cold chill of the grave that Jade was directing at him. Dropping his tone to a melodramatic whisper, Smith began his monologue, “His little heart’s been absolutely _crushed_.”

Jade swatted at Smith, scowling. “Okay, okay, that’s enough, Oprah. Adam’s not interested in your butchered rendering of the details.”

Adam, however, had leaned in, listening attentively. “Oh, Adam’s VERY interested in the skewed details,” he said sweetly. “It’s what Hollywood thrives- I mean. Tell me all about her.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” muttered Jade, not noticing Adam’s blush as his blunder and rolling his eyes as he stormed over to the fridge and began quite loudly slamming things around. Adam suspected this was purely for their benefit.

Smith, meanwhile, had perched on the table and taken on the role of master storyteller. Hands spread wide, he began dramatically for the second time, “It was a long, long time ago, in the far and distant land of Los Angeles. I was the owner of a small skateboarding shop that was striving to break out into the world-”

“Striving? Try _flailing_ ,” Jade interjected sourly from somewhere deep inside the fridge.

Smith’s only response was an annoyed glance toward Jade as he pressed on, not discouraged. “It was striving to break out into the world, on the brink of massive success, when my day clerk- that’d be Bottle Green over there-”

“My name is _Jade_ ,” Jade called, finally retreating from the fridge before he contracted hypothermia and sulking against the wall, arms crossed and signature scowl featured prominently across his face.

“Yeah, Emerald, that’s what I said. _Anyway_ , the ugly version of teal was hard at work scaring away valuable customers and dragging the store’s reputation through the proverbial mud when in walked someone different. Someone special. Someone glittering. In fact, there was a sort of- a sort of _glow_.”’

Jade snorted loudly. Smith paused to grit his teeth and went on, undaunted, “It seemed to my dear brother Olive that a _god_ had entered the store-”

This was too much for the shade of green in question. “I did NOT think that Kev was a god,” Jade complained.

“Well now you’re just taking the finesse out of my story,” Smith snapped. “Robbing it of its art. Keep your footnotes to yourself, please.” Clearing his throat and turning back to Adam, he resumed his story. “Anyway, Granny Apple Me thought that he was looking upon a god. A messiah, even. The second coming of Christ. That’s how stunned he was. You could say _breathless_.”

“I did not deify-”

“He deified the man,” Smith pressed on. “Tousled brown curls, striking green eyes, a Roman nose and a lanky build- truly he was a creature to behold! Well, okay, I thought he was nothing special, and he was about as educated as one of the more dim-witted rocks, and he was a total jerk-off from day one, but Cyan was just eating him up.”

“How many synonyms for green _are_ there?” Jade asked in a strangled voice, exasperated. “And must you use EVERY one?”

Smith swung his arm blindly in Jade’s general direction, a silent warning of further flailing. “Anyway, Lime was head over heels for Kevin before they ever spoke. And Kev must’ve liked him, too, because he kept coming back to the store. Never fucking _bought_ anything, just distracted Robin’s Egg from his work-”

“Robin’s Egg is a shade of blue, dumbass,” Jade muttered, soliciting a barely suppressed giggle from Adam.

“Kevin and Sea Green were together for almost two years-” Smith pressed on loudly before he was interrupted yet again.

“Oh, and they were such wonderful years,” Jade put in nastily, sarcasm and disgust soiling his normally cadent voice. “Two years of freeloading, sneaking around, and badly covered _lies_. What more could a man ask for in life?”

Smith nodded. “Yes; they were happy. There was talk of a deeper commitment, of sharing an apartment, but Kevvie seemed to think that that was an invitation to hang around ours nonstop. Never once saw his.”

“I did,” Jade said glumly. “Once. When I found-”

“Don’t ruin the ending!” Smith shrieked, looking scandalized. “Don’t you know _anything_ about storytelling, you heathen? Jesus. Anyway, as I was saying, any time Sage tried to bring up some form of commitment, or even alternate housing, Kevin would just trot out the old ‘I love you’, and Viridian would immediately drop the nagging.”

“Not true,” Jade seethed, staring at the floor.

“Viridian. I like that,” Adam mused.

“Don’t you start too!” Smith yelped, raising his voice and pressing on, “Kevin started changing.”

“Started getting caught in his lies, you mean,” spat Jade.

Smith intoned seriously, “And when he was offered an audition for a big time orange juice commercial, Kevin stopped coming around. Stopped answering the phone.”

“Chose the fucking juice commercial over me,” Jade moped loudly.

“Wait, are we talking Tropicana orange juice?” Adam interrupted eagerly. He’d seen the commercial. “The brown-haired guy, with the abs that almost make up for his simpering everything else?”

Jade snorted and Smith went on, “It wasn’t until Willow showed up on Kevin’s doorstep, weeks since he’d last heard from the man he thought he’d live happily ever after with, that-”

“I did no such thing,” Jade protested, quietly enough that Adam knew Smith’s words were dead-on.

“That Kevin felt inclined to notify Jade of their break-up,” Smith abridged the story.

“By sleeping with a woman,” Jade chimed in bitterly. “By sleeping with some slut who he’d been sleeping with the ENTIRE time we were together. The first fucking time I’d ever been in his apartment, and SHE was why. She LIVED with him. The whole time, they were all cozy and lovey-dovey and in bed together. For two fucking years!”

Smith cut his brother off before he could say something he’d regret, concluding solemnly, “And ever since the day we came racing back to Ukiah, our tails between our legs, Malachite here has hated everyone and trusted no one.”

“Malachite?” Adam repeated quietly. “Is that even a word?”

“Especially not actors,” Jade put in, some of the darkness finally lifting from his eyes. “All actors are scum. All they fucking care about is their goddamn selves.”

Something shriveled up and died inside Adam. “So you pretty much hate liars,” he said weakly.

“They all deserve to die,” Jade agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “And not quickly, either.”

Lying to him, then, had probably not been the cleverest way of making friends.

“Well, he was crazy,” Adam said firmly, banishing thoughts of how much he sucked. “Anyone who’d leave you is crazy.”

“I almost kind of like this guy,” Jade said, sounding quite upset by this fact. “He’s sort of not too bad.”

Smith rolled his eyes. “Big step, for you. Anyway, Ad, that’s why he hasn’t asked you to stay with us till your house is ready,” he excused his brother. “It’s nothing personal, he just doesn’t trust you.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s not personal at all,” Adam joked weakly. His mind was swirling out of control.

“I hate everyone the same,” Jade assured him, and Adam could almost smile around his sudden vertigo.

“We’re getting our new couch tomorrow,” Smith went on, ignoring Adam and his brother. “After that, there’ll be somewhere for you to sleep, if you’re interested.”

“No!” yelped Jade. “No, he’s not staying here. What’s wrong with his car? He can sleep there.”

“He’s right, you know,” Adam put in, but Smith was not having any of that.

Turning to his brother sternly and ignoring Adam who, once again, was turning red, Smith said quietly, “All he’s gonna do, Jade, is sleep on our couch.”

“He might be a criminal!” Jade protested. “Or maybe he drools. Do you want his _drool_ on our new couch?”

Smith stared disgustedly at his brother for a moment before turning back to Adam. “Tomorrow night, you’re sleeping here,” he informed Adam, who wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or hurl at Smith’s final tone. “No excuses.”

  
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	5. Next Victim: The Sidekick

“Mr. Burgan, does your client want the part or not?” the annoyed voice of the talent scout demanded. “Mr. Spielberg does not often make offers like this. He wants Carson specifically.”

Hunter gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to scream. It was bad enough when he just lost sleep over this job; now he was losing hair. He smoothed his fingers along his expanding forehead worriedly, wondering just how apparent his receding hairline was. “Look,” he grunted. “My _client_ is a spoil- is quite used to getting his way in every aspect of life. If you want me to coax him into accepting your terms, it’s gonna take a bit longer that _now_. The real question you need to be asking yourself is, does _your_ client want Mr. Carson or not?”

“We need an answer today,” insisted the rather whiny voice.

“The only answer you’re getting today is no!” Hunter snapped. “If you want Adam to star, you’re going to have to wait for _my_ call, and I will need until the end of _tomorrow_.”

“Hopefully you’ll get around to doing your job before we find a replacement, then,” hissed the studio’s prissy (in Hunter’s opinion) representative quite moodily.

“Jesus. Take a Midol break before you talk to anyone else, if you want to convince someone to associate with your studio,” Hunter muttered quite audibly before hanging up on the best offer of Adam’s career.

He leaned back in his lounge chair, glaring at the crystal-blue dangerously chlorinated pool before him. Sometimes there was nothing worse than wondering when, exactly, Adam had stopped being his best friend and turned into the pig-headed babysitting charge of an ulcer that he was. He didn’t have to worry about finding work or managing his finances or controlling his publicity; he wasn’t concerned with his career or reputation or poll ratings. The only thing he ever thought about was himself.

And, of course, how to make Hunter’s life as miserable as possible, Hunter surmised as his phone began to hum a rather chilling rendition of the Ride of the Valkyries, his only warning before an Adam-sized tantrum hit with enough force to devastate several largely populated cities.

“Hello?” he answered grudgingly, hoping Adam would pick up on at least a twinge of the bitterness in his tone.

“Hunter, I need-” Adam’s whine started instantly.

“Why is it always about YOU?” Hunter bellowed, unable to contain himself any longer. He just wanted to lay by the pool, get a goddamn suntan, and will his hair to grow. “I need this, I want that! Would it be so hard to at least say HI once in a while? Maybe ‘how are you’, if you’re feeling especially generous?”

Adam sighed, clearly irritated. “Hunter. This is important. I don’t have time for your little mood swings right now. I have a serious problem.”

Hunter fought that good old urge to scream. “Broken a nail, have you?”

“I need a hotel room in Ukiah. For tonight. I won’t be on my flight, so you’ll have to cancel that photo shoot at the dinner with the publicist.”

“Should I cancel your sister’s birthday party as well?” Hunter growled.

Adam thought about that for a moment. “Well, I won’t be able to make it, so if you can possibly reschedule, that would be best. Anyway, I’ll also need you to rent a car for me, something nice but not too, you know, excessive.”

“And this is your big problem?” moaned Hunter, rubbing his ulcer and grimacing. He’d be tearing out his hair if he could spare any. “That’s the crisis? Precious, perfect Adam Carson needs a goddamn car?”

Annoyed for all the wrong reasons, Adam said shortly, “I am NOT perfect, Hunter. I’m a lot of things, but perfect isn’t one of our marketing stances. You know that. It doesn’t sell. It’s too cold. I’m a man, not a vase, remember?”

“And you’re so much warmer,” Hunter barely breathed, horribly sick of being so much _less_ than Adam. He was the one with the ulcer, with the shiny forehead, with the nervous eating habit, with the long string of Adam-obsessed girlfriends, with the crappy hotel room that connected to the suite Adam had decided NOT to occupy, with the beige suit jacket that _someone’s_ selfish vomit had splattered all over, with the stack of bills and phone calls and magazines- HE was the one who had worked so hard for Adam to achieve what he’d always wanted most. It was he, Hunter, who scurried around behind the scenes, desperately trying to keep up, to keep Adam happy, and not kill himself besides.

And it felt _so_ wonderful to be appreciated like this.

He was smarter; he worked a hell of a lot harder. It was Adam people bought, but it was Hunter doing the selling, Hunter making the money.

“Yeah. Anyway, Hunt, if you’re done wasting my time, I’m also gonna need you to get me a house, pronto.”

“A house. _Pronto_ ,” Hunter repeated disbelievingly.

“In Ukiah. And soon,” Adam pressed. “I don’t pay you to take your time.”

Hunter’s phone sailed through the air, end over end, in a perfect arc. Adam’s demanding tone, gone reedy and swallowed up in the wind, was barely audible as Hunter’s metallic blue waste of money descended beautifully into the water, a soft plunk and a few ripples its only protests as the screen shorted out and it slipped under.  
Hunter let out an enormous sigh and settled back into his chair, crossing his arms behind his head.

This was _much_ better.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

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	6. Super Smash Brothers

Adam had never been so furious in his life. “He just hung up on me,” he spat, shaking his head in disbelief. “Who the hell hangs up on ME?”

He stormed back into the Pugets’ living room, stomping his feet.

Smith glanced up from the television, where he and Jade were having a fierce ‘Cube battle. The screen was frozen on a close up of Zelda wielding a fire flower, very clearly beating Marth’s ass into the ground, something Jade did not look too happy about. Not that Jade ever looked too happy about anything.

“What happened?” Smith asked.

“What _happened_ is that I was just hung up on. Me!” Adam seethed.

Smith’s lips twitched. “This is a rare occurrence? Every girl I’ve ever dated- hell, every girl I’ve ever _spoken_ to has hung up on me. Not to mention my boss…”

Adam was surprised. “And you put up with that? Why? It’s—it’s—maddening!”

Smith laughed, tossing Adam a controller. “Loosen up, Ad. People are gonna hang up on you all your life. It’s not like you’re Zeus or anything. No one’s gonna kiss your ass unless you’ve got something they want.”

Adam opened his mouth to protest before he remembered. He was a _normal_ guy now. Normal guys, apparently, were hung up on. Often. “I guess you’re right,” he said grudgingly. “It’s… it’s no big deal.”

  
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	7. Room Service

“Get the hell out of bed, asshole!” Jade bellowed into the living room at six-thirty that morning.

Adam moaned and tried to roll over, only succeeding in hitting the ground and corner of the coffee table. A muffled yelp trickled into the kitchen and Jade looked quite pleased with himself.

“Who the hell died and made you the guy who gets to swear at me before nine in the morning?” Adam growled, appearing in the kitchen doorway, eyes squinty with sleep and hair plastered up in the back. He was clutching a blanket to him still, as if he wouldn’t have to wake up till he let go of it.

Jade looked even more pleased. His feelings for Adam were becoming stunningly apparent. “The same guy who died and made you the ingrate who gets to sleep on my fucking couch,” he shot back almost cheerfully.

Adam’s temper flared. He had no tolerance for anything, not in the morning. “I’m a guest here,” he snapped.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Jade retorted. “Doesn’t mean I have to be nice to you, either.”

Adam couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Smith had been _nice_ to him, just because. Not at this hour, at least.

“You’re the one who brought me here,” he said crabbily, sitting down wearily in one of the wobbly kitchen chairs. “And it’s not the goddamned Mariott, either.”

“Yeah, not like your _car_ ,” Jade said, warning in his argumentative tone. “That must be a cozy stay.”

“All right, all right,” Adam mumbled, glowering now at the uneven surface of the table. “Thank you for your staggering hospitality.”

“That’s more like it,” Jade said approvingly. “Now get me the paper and I’ll consider letting you stay again tonight.”

Adam started to open his mouth. He was no man’s servant; he had a butler, for God’s sake. And a cook and a maid.

 _But do you have friends?_ his conscience nagged. Reluctantly admitting that he couldn’t mouth off at everyone who called him an asshole, at least not when he wanted to sleep in their living room, he settled for glaring at Jade in silence.

“The paper?” Jade prompted. “It’s not going to jump up into my lap on its own, you know.”

In spite of everything, the mention of Jade’s lap somehow managed to make Adam’s face get hot and he staggered back into the living room. Opening the door and snatching the paper out of the hallway, he kicked it towards the kitchen, satisfied to see it skidding in the entryway. _He didn’t say it had to be hand-delivered_ , he thought grimly, and collapsed back into bed.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

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	8. Better Homes and Gardens

Days passed quickly, melting into weeks, nothing standing out to distinguish them or make them last. It was a good blur; no Hunter, no Hollywood. Just Jade’s couch, video games, sneering and Bud Lite and quarrels.

Adam was slowly learning the behaviors of a normal human; even slower was Jade’s cautious acceptance of his new roommate. While Jade and Smith were working, Adam searched with no great urgency for a house, or else made himself useful. On Jade’s days off, he poked around the little apartment annoying his antisocial companion as much as he could.

“Don’t you have a _job_?” Jade finally demanded, fed up with Adam, who was humming loudly and teaching himself how to cook. Today’s experiment was eventually going to masquerade as a bundt cake, and if Jade heard his butchering of the Nutcracker Suite one more time he was going to shoot someone.

“Don’t _you_ have a bundt pan?” Adam shot back accusingly. The closest thing to a cake pan he had found was a rusting donut mold, and neither Smith nor Jade had recognized it.

“Honestly, Adam,” Jade insisted, rather crabbily. He’d just gotten home from work but refused to let his weariness interfere with being his usual snarky self. “You sound like Martha Stewart, hell-bent on all this home improvement crap.”

“Well, if that’s what you think of my cake, you certainly don’t have to have any,” Adam sniffed. Realizing something, he went on, “You know, you haven’t been swearing as much as usual, lately-”

Jade’s eyes, however, had narrowed as he latched onto his latest conspiracy theory. “And while we’re on the subject… twenties keep slipping into the grocery envelope! And this morning I found new toothpaste in the bathroom! _Toothpaste_. If you locked me in a grocery store for a week, I _still_ wouldn’t be able to figure out where they sold it. So where might this toothpaste have come from, hmm?”

Adam shrugged, licking some batter off his finger as he poured it into the donut molds. “Tooth fairy,” he explained, grinning.

Jade pointed past Adam, towards the living room. “The curtains in there,” he continued suspiciously. “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with them, would you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Adam said sweetly.

“Then let me elucidate,” Jade tossed back, almost threateningly. “They smelled like pee. They were here when we moved in and they smelled so much like pee that neither of us would touch them, so we never took them down. And I think they might have been purplish, with little flowery pee-smelling things on them.”

“And?” Adam was clearly unimpressed. Jade leaned forward, eyes now narrowed to slits.

“Now they’re blue. Just like the new couch.”

“You must’ve been wrong about the color, then,” Adam laughed, pleased that Jade had noticed his contributions to the apartment. It was out of gratitude, mostly; for his lodgings and for the haven they provided. It was also out of pure repulsion for the smell of piss.

“These ones don’t smell!” Jade cried, stomping his foot. Adam bit back a chuckle; the slender man would be furious if he knew how adorable he was.

Adam grinned, flicking some of the leftover batter at Jade, which served only to reignite the investigation. “That’s another thing!” he crowed, excited as he neared his big finish, hand gestures approaching dangerous velocities. “Flour, yeast, all that cooking stuff—we don’t have ANY of that!”

Adam smirked, sliding the donut mold into the oven. “Well, Sherlock, you sure seem to be onto something here,” he teased languidly. Happily.

Jade stabbed a quivering finger into Adam’s chest and accused quite loudly, “Someone’s been BUYING things for the apartment!”

Adam laughed openly now, shoving Jade away gently before the sudden urge to lick the splatter of cake batter off the slighter man’s chin overpowered him. He satisfied himself with tucking a bit of his fringe out of his eyes, hating himself for wishing it was Jade’s hair he was playing with.

“That fiend,” Adam said with mock-indignation, teasing thoroughly but gently. The only way he could stifle this horrible, wonderful feeling. He was afraid to laugh, all too aware that laughter would turn into tears. Overwhelmed, he kept his face unchanged. “The criminal must be apprehended immediately, before the apartment gets any more attractive!”

Jade almost smiled, but suppressed it with an impressive scowl just in time. “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd for a man without a job, buying a house, and too broke to afford a _hotel_ room to be throwing down every cent he somehow comes by in the name of a stranger’s home?” he demanded. Adam privately wondered if he’d found the flannel sheets yet. Jade’s sheets were worn and not nearly soft enough for his pale, freckled skin; Adam hadn’t been able to help himself.

“Not in the least,” Adam chirped, barely stopping himself from kissing Jade’s forehead and more than a little concerned about the surges of affection he was experiencing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d longed for someone, for one definite and unique _soul_ , the way he kept catching himself yearning for Jade.

“If it helps you sleep at night, Vert, I can look for a job. It might cut down on my homemaking time,” Adam added the warning lightly.

Money had guaranteed that he hadn’t washed windows, scrubbed tile, removed grout, vacuumed, cooked dinner, made and fulfilled a shopping list, done laundry, or cleaned up around a home in years. He was finding such commonplace tasks quite restive in Jade’s home, spending much of his leisure time on the mundane. He liked to pretend it wasn’t because of the warm feeling he got at the thought that he was taking care of Jade, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

All of which meant that the previously grimy apartment sparkled and that whenever anyone was hungry, there was plenty to eat. There was also a warmer feeling about the place, something emanating from Adam that only Jade could feel and tried his best not to. Warmth like that scared him, so he ignored it almost as effectively as Adam did.

Jade briefly contemplated the drastic consequences of Adam’s potential job search. “I’m just pointing out,” he quickly amended, “that it’s kind of weird. And not very responsible for a Martha Stewart clone.”

Adam rolled his eyes, thrusting a potholder at Jade. “You’re right. Buying flatware and laundry detergent, both of which there was a painfully evident lack of, is not only frivolous but also a certain mark of immaturity,” he agreed scathingly. “I’m gonna run downstairs and move the load of whites into the dryer. If the oven starts screaming, take out my bundt cake.”

Jade muttered something about Adam and mother hens, but as soon as Adam had rounded the corner, a smile touched his lips. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to start to seriously enjoy the aggravating and enigmatic presence of Adam, and that was the last thing that he wanted to happen.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	9. Juan Delahun

Fate waited until Adam had a heaping armful of dripping socks and t-shirts, soaking his polo and clinging wetly to his arms, to descend in all its fiery, horrific glory.

It also waited until there was nowhere to hide but the dryer.

“Omigod!” a fiend from hell shrieked, entering the community laundry room decibel first. “I just KNOW Juan Delahun does NOT do laundry!”

Adam winced. Juan Delahun was the worst role he’d ever played. It had been a steamy low-budget romance that swept the box office, involving the hot South American sun and a sizzling heroine. It was mostly the sex, really, that got the public so interested; it was breathy and what women would call romantic: two exotic and foreign strangers meet; have some very graphic sex; fall in love; have some more very graphic sex; kill some unimportant villain determined to split them up; and have even more sex. And then get married. All of which, of course, takes place in all of three days. Adam knew for a fact it was plotless drivel, one of the first films he’d ever been in and a running joke he and Hunter shared.

And _that_ was what he was being remembered for? He was mortally offended. This woman called herself his fan? Once he got over that, of course, he was instantly terrified that the swiftly greying, rather dumpy woman drooling at him would scamper off and tell Jade exactly who he was if he didn’t comply with some ridiculous demand, possibly involving the graphic sex she seemed to worship him for.

Firmly banishing that horrifying thought from his mind, Adam said dryly, “Then perhaps you should lecture your Mr. Delahun in the benefits of personal hygiene.”

She was thrown off but only for a moment. Adam considered throwing his sopping wad of clothing into her face, to blind the predator and buy some time for his escape. Suddenly seizing upon the thought of what such a woman would do with Juan Delahun’s boxer briefs, he decided against it, scarcely suppressing a shudder.

“Oh, I get it,” the woman said, her beady eyes alight with a look that plainly said she thought she was quite clever. “You’re _acting_. You’re in the middle of a scene right now. Where’s the camera? Can I be in the movie? How about Jennifer Aniston? I heard she was in it.”

 _In what?_ Adam thought, resisting the urge to laugh. He didn’t have any movie pending, not right now. There was the offer from Spielberg; he was hoping for something better. Or, he forced himself to admit, something more local. Something that did not require changing his current lifestyle, or filming, or being on set, or around other actors or directors or cameras- something new, something different. A better offer.

Somehow his thoughts turned electrically to Jade and a fierce blush he couldn’t spare, not at that moment, lit up his face. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he said honestly, making his eyes wide and innocent, raising the laundry to hide part of his face. If she couldn’t see his snitch of a nose, she’d only have his eyes to get lost in; eyes that would lead a woman like her to believe any lie. He could convince her she didn’t recognize him, he knew it, if he could only eliminate his trademark nose.

“You’re Adam Carson,” she accused, less certain now. “As made famous by Brazilian Night.”

Adam shook his head, careful to look lost. “My name’s Jonathon,” he lied awkwardly. “Jonathon Harris.”

“Do you live here?” she asked suspiciously, only momentarily befuddled by the name. It seemed achingly familiar but she’d also never heard it before; it was a safe name, anonymous. A name that would never be famous, a name that would never make women swoon. Nonetheless throw them down on a bed and ravage them on camera, moaning here and again purely for the benefit of the hovering boom, keeping eyes shut tight to avoid rolling them. “I don’t remember any Harrises in the building,” she said finally, no longer sure that he was who she thought he was.

Adam paused for honesty, now, knowing he had her all but convinced. “I’m staying with friends until I can find a place of my own.”

It was painfully obvious that the shrewish woman did not entirely believe him. But his lie wasn’t nearly complex enough to catch him in—a guest of a tenant was untraceable, and his story was sound enough. She only had her own suspicions and conviction to support her now. “You look just like Juan,” she tried, almost desperate now. What a story it would be, meeting Juan Delahun in the laundry room. Her friends would barely believe it—and now she wasn’t even sure if she did.

It was something about those eyes, she thought. Eyes like that wouldn’t lie.

Adam laughed nervously. “I get that all the time,” he said weakly, seizing his opportunity to bolt for the door.

“Aren’t you going to put those in the dryer?” Mrs. 20 Questions shouted after him, still gathering her wits, but Adam had already taken off running.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	10. Safe Inside a Moment

“Are you—humming?” Smith asked incredulously. He’d just gotten home from work, collapsed on the couch, and been assaulted with cheerfulness.

From Jade.

In his opinion, it was all a bit much to take.

That, and the living room smelled weird. Different. Clean almost.

 _Not like pee_.

Suddenly suspicious, Smith sat up a bit straighter and fixed Jade was a quite ominous glare. It would have been impressive, chilling even, had Jade not been getting them all his life.

Jade just shrugged, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Glad Adam’s not hanging around is all. Like the peace.”

Smith shook his head, eyes lighting up. “No way. You would never hum if it was peace you were enjoying. You’d be curled up somewhere reading and growling at everyone who went near you. No; that smile means something different.”

“You’re wrong,” Jade insisted, trying to sound scathing. He’d always been good at that, but today his voice was several octaves above caustic, a fact that would have solicited a frown if he had been physically able to stop smiling.

“I think I know what it is,” Smith went on, look of sheer delight on his face. “I think you _enjoy_ Adam’s company.”

“No!” Jade yelped shortly, not meaning to be so loud. “No,” he repeated more quietly, forcing a glower down over his smile. It was short lived; he could barely resist the urge to giggle at the elastic way his grin sprung back up. This was most unlike him, and personally, he was worried. “It’s his absence I enjoy.”

“You like him,” Smith insisted, looking forward to the weeks of merciless teasing sure to follow this conversation.

“Do not!” was the mature answer Jade resorted to.

“Jade and Adam, sitting in a tree, K-I-S—” Smith started to crow.

Jade’s retort, the remote control, was spinning through the air, aimed for his brother’s head, when a walking mound of wet socks burst through the front door and filled the stunned silence with a lovely soprano rendition of, “S-I-N-G?”

The remote smacked into the side of Smith’s momentarily immobile head. he was glancing nervously at the pile of socks, more specifically the legs sticking out from beneath it, hoping it hadn’t heard the whole song, since his brother would probably deem it treason to the highest degree and have a nuclear meltdown that would lay the entire building to ruin and cause cancer in several following generations if it had.

Jade, meanwhile, had gone whiter than death. Smith was right; he had just determined on a scale of severity the size of Chernobyl that he would not rest till his brother’s scrawny, ungrateful, treacherous blood had been spilled if the sock monster did indeed contain Adam.

Smith chucked weakly, hoping to divert the explosion, maybe shift some of the ensuing shrapnel in Adam’s direction. “Hey, Addy. Didn’t know you were home.”

“Was there something wrong with the dryer?” Jade croaked, hoping to change the subject and thereby divert Adam’s potential hearing.

Smith. Was. Dead.

“Ran out of quarters,” Adam lied, closing and bolting the door behind him before crossing the room and dropping the wet laundry onto Smith’s lap, the movement soliciting a loud jingling clearly indicating possession of multiple quarters. Jade emitted a small sound of glee at the look on Smith’s face, which quickly turned into something gleaming and dangerous.

“First comes love,” Adam prompted Smith, who emitted a shrill war cry and lunged at Adam.

“Then comes a severe beating for the guy who just dumped wet underwear on me!” Smith adapted the grade-school rhymed, bowling into Adam, who dropped quickly, snatching a sock and whipping Smith with it the moment they hit the ground.

“Then comes Jade with some fucking backup!” Smith grunted as Adam easily rolled him onto his back, straddling his flailing body and trapping his legs with great ease, continuing to slap the wet sock across Smith’s face. He hadn’t worked out in almost an entire month and the frenzied flight up the stairs had winded him a bit, but out of shape as he was, five weeks ago he’d been primed and ready for any on-screen nudity asked of him. An admitted bit of softness and a fleck or two of undesired cellulite on an otherwise perfect pair of thick, rippling legs did not mean he had lost _all_ strength.

“It is a clean sock,” Jade pointed out. “Adam even used fabric softener, I bet.” He shrugged, laughing a little and not able to contain his sheer delight, even with the risk of Adam seeing his enormous smile.

Sloppy grin splashed across his face, Adam glanced up, catching Jade’s deep brown gaze. His pure, childish happiness left him looking ridiculous, honest, and he laughed easily. Their eye contact intensified and Adam’s laughter died, the air nearly crackling between them. Jade felt on the verge of something, a realization that had been nagging at him for the better part of a week.

Before he could reach it, though, Smith loosed a leg and kicked it free, bucking Adam off him. Adam’s concentration immediately returned to the struggle, grin hardening into determination as he thrashed away from his would-be captor, holding the sock out as if to ward Smith away.

Jade bit his lip, unable to suppress his enormous grin. The eye contact had left him warm and tingling and oddly breathless. He tried to scowl at the commandeering of his emotions, but it was impossible. Safe inside this moment, he was far too happy.

Which, of course, only made him madder.

  
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	11. Four Out of Five Dentists Recommend Crest

It was three forty-seven in the morning when Jade woke up. When he opened his eyes, he was sitting bolt upright in his bed, and he was consumed with an unsatiable need to brush his teeth. Still shaking free of the clutches of sleep, he stumbled through the heaps of books, papers, and clothing that was his room. He woke up some when half his foot slipped into freezing numbness as a result from slamming it into the doorframe, but not enough to turn on the bathroom light when he finally made it there.

His slamming and swearing was more than sufficient to pull the insomniac Adam from his makeshift bed. From time to time, he thought fondly of his king-sized bed, heaped with pillows and comforters, equipped with the kind of feather bed that most people only dreamed of. But in reality, he’d give all that up in a heartbeat if it meant staying with Jade. It wasn’t even the freedom, anymore—it had grown. It was something stronger, something brighter, something that started deep in his center and spread its warmth outward. At first he’d thought it was belonging, a sense of home, but he’d come to realize it wasn’t that. _That_ was the smell of the apartment, slight and indistinct, and how every time he walked in he breathed deeply and it washed over him and quieted any troubles he had. But there was something more, the warm surge of something soft, something affectionate, something sweet. He didn’t have a name for this feeling so much as a face; smooth cheekbones, clumsy smile and crooked teeth, eyes brown in the way an angel’s smile would be. Soft. Everything about that face, shy and flushing, was soft. Even when it tried to be hard, tried to scowl—and Adam smiled now, overwhelmed with fondness—it couldn’t escape its gentle, almost childish, curves, the way the ears and cheeks reddened with his laugh. Adam pictured his eyelids, filled with the tender desire to smooth his thumb across them.

Adam shook his head, hard, veering away from his daydream of Jade. It was just lust, lust aggravated by the celibacy of his time here. It was just, Adam half-heartedly tried to convince himself, his subconscious longing for his old life.

Which he did, he resolved fiercely, intend to get back to.

Just… not yet. There was no hurry, was there? No rush.

Adam didn’t mean to stand so much as he found himself on his feet; and he certainly didn’t mean to walk out into the hall anymore than he meant to uncertainly hover outside the open bathroom door, listening to the somehow soothing sounds of Jade’s toothbrush against his teeth.

“Odd time of day to get caught up in dental hygiene,” he remarked softly.

Jade’s hair was mussed badly, plastered straight up in the back and reaching at all angles. The circles under his eyes were dark as bruises, and his pupils pulsed to pinpricks as he started. Hurriedly spitting into the sink, he mumbled groggily, “You’re wake.”

Adam nodded, soft smile touching his lips as he rake his fingers through his coarse hair. For some reason, he was nervous. He was wearing only pajama pants; Jade was wearing a rumpled Cure t-shirt and boxers. They were close enough that the heat of Jade’s body lapped at Adam’s chest; his bare skin tingled and his throat went dry. The only light came from the dim orange nightlight in the bathroom; something about the whole thing was terribly intimate.

“I wake you?” Jade mumbled next, sleep clinging to him. He was oddly vulnerable and he smelled sweet, like Jade but softer. Adam wanted to pull him to his chest, breathe him deep, hold him and let him snuggle back to sleep.

“No,” Adam was quick to assure him, voice low and little more than a whisper. “No, I couldn’t sleep.”

“My teeth felt funny,” Jade said, wrinkling his nose. Adam was reminded briefly of a toddler and his smile grew.

“And now you’re minty fresh,” Adam murmured, half-teasing. And suddenly, not sure if it was really happening and entirely unable to stop himself, his hand rose to Jade’s cheek and stroked a finger gently along it.

Jade looked faintly surprised, too sleepy to react or comprehend fully. Instead he lowered his eyelids, blissful, leaning in to the caress and sighing happily.

 _You’re lying to him_ , a quiet thought nagged unbidden, _you’re lying to him and now you’re using him_.

“Jade?” Adam all but whimpered, the truth burning on his lips.

Jade fluttered his eyes open and stepped forward, brushing his lips across Adam’s cheek before stumbling back towards his bedroom. Had he looked back, he would’ve seen Adam standing like a wraith in the doorway, stricken, tears streaming down the cheeks Jade had just kissed. For once in his life he could not have what he wanted, even as it laid before him, half-asleep and toothpaste-fresh. He couldn’t have Jade, could never have Jade, and he finally knew the name of the reason.

“I love you,” Adam whispered hoarsely, retreating to his couch and pretending not to cry.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	12. Pancakes in Paradise

When Jade woke up the next morning, with no memory of the mid-morning bathroom incident, Adam was making pancakes.

Jade staggered into the kitchen, eyes wide in wonder. “Pancakes? Those still exist?”

Smith was already at the table, fingers sticky with gratuitous amounts of syrup and plate heaped with Adam’s golden pancakes. Jade slipped into the chair next to his brother and grinned as Adam, buzzing between their plates and the stove, dropped a heap of steaming breakfast in front of him.

“What’s the occasion?” Jade asked eagerly, not hesitating to dig in.

Adam grinned, proud of himself. This was to make up for last night and whatever Jade—his Jade—thought of it. “Thought you guys deserved some thanks is al,” he lied cheerfully.

An insistent thumping at the front door interrupted any further sentiment he might have shared. Smith started to get up, but Adam stopped him dead with an icy stare. “ _I_ will get the door,” he reprimanded sternly. “ _You_ will enjoy your breakfast.”

He was even humming to himself as he made his way to the front door. _Maybe it’ll be someone I can invite to breakfast_ , he thought cheerily.

When the door swung open, however, it revealed something terrible. Something with a wolfish grin and hooded eyes. Gleaming teeth to match a gleaming forehead.

“Is that any kind of hello, Carson?” purred Hunter.  
Adam slammed the door.

“Think, I have to think,” he muttered furiously to himself. “Can’t let this happen, have to-”

The pounding came again and Smith called, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Adam yelped, sounding strangled. “Nothing at all.” He flung open the door, slipped through, and slammed it again. Voice low, defensive, and all but a growl, Adam spoke quietly. “I’m done, I’m out. I’m happy here, I’m whole. This is what I’ve been working for my whole life, okay? I know you hate me and I don’t deserve it but please. Just leave. Leave me the hell alone. I’m not that guy anymore.”

Hunter raised his eyebrows, choosing his words carefully. He’d never before realized how good it felt to watch Adam squirm. “It took me precisely sixteen minutes to find you,” he said calmly. “Once I finally got tired of vacation, I mean.”

Adam was begging now. “Please, take anything you want—my house, my money. You can have it all. Just don’t ruin this for me. I know it won’t last, but I want it for as long as I can have it.”

Hunter’s voice went soft, wounded. What kind of monster did Adam think him? What kind of monster was he, that he wanted to hurt this vulnerable creature, his _friend_?

“You’re my best friend, Ad,” he said disgustedly. Whether the disgust was for Adam or himself, he wasn’t sure. “Have you forgotten that so quickly? I didn’t come here to hurt you, I came here to tell you that you need to be on set next Monday, lot forty-six. Spielberg caved to every demand.”

“But I’m done, Hunter,” Adam whimpered, eyes pleading. “I don’t want to act anymore. No more movies, no more awards, no more red carpets and paparazzi. I just want to stay here.”

Hunter took this blow in stride, not even reacting with shock, though the very foundations of his being shook with it. Adam, casting aside the spotlight? This was unheard of. “Fine; after this movie, I swear to God you’ll be able to.”

“I don’t want this movie,” Adam whined. “I’m staying here!”

“You’re _signed_ , Adam,” Hunter said, shaking his head. “Those of us without million-dollar smiles have to stand by our word, and I’ll never work again if I fuck Spielberg. If you don’t show, there’s gonna be a lawsuit plastered across the news for weeks. Good luck staying incognito then.”

“Fine. I’ll do this one, this last one—but you gotta help me, Hunt. I’ll need an excuse for disappearing,” Adam relinquished, sounding broken.

Hunter sighed, something in him letting go. ‘Client’ was an impersonal work; ‘friend’ was closer to the truth. “You said you needed a house?” he offered weakly. “If I find you one. Won’t moving in be an excuse?”

“Then I can’t live here anymore,” Adam said mournfully.  
Hunter ran his fingers through his pending absence of hair. “Sure you can, as long as I find one that needs enough work. That should give you a couple of weeks, right?”

“Hunter,” Adam said quietly, “he can’t find out. About this. He’ll hate me if he knows.”

“People have hated you before, Adam,” Hunter finally said. “What’s happened to you? You’re changing.”

“I hope so,” said Adam, eyes bright and passionate. “I love him.”

Hunter nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry, Ad. I got your back.”

Before Adam could thank him, and he was going to, Smith ripped the door all but off its hinges. “Adam! There’s been a disaster! It’s terrible. Carnage everywhere! Burnt pancakes!” he paused mid-panic to ask, “Why’re you out in the hall?”

Adam chuckled weakly. “My realtor,” he lied. Somehow, in an act of wit and self-sacrifice unfathomable to Adam, Hunter had spun away, now facing another door and making a big fuss about his keys. “Stopped by.”

Smith peered up and down the hall. “And then teleported away?” he asked. Hunter carefully disguised his snort of laughter and he attempted to jam his zip drive into the keyhole of 6B.

“No, I stayed out here thinking things over for a little bit,” Adam went on, swallowing hard and forcing Smith back into the apartment. Leaving Hunter out there in the hall felt like the shadiest thing he’d ever done. Turning his back and walking away from his best friend? Abandoning him after he’d forgiven, and sacrificed, so much? There was low, and then there was low.

And then there was this.

“Thinking? About what?” Smith laughed, oblivious to Adam’s inner agony. Having a conscience sucked, Adam was quickly discovering.

No matter what Jade thought of him, he was a good actor- there wasn’t even a tremor in Adam’s voice as he lied, “The house situation is pretty much taken care of. There’s some huge plumbing problem that’ll keep me from moving in, but by next Monday I’m gonna be able to start bringing my stuff in. The workers are gonna need me to supervise and, you know, help out, for a while.”

Smith looked crestfallen. “You mean, no more pancakes?”

Adam forced a smile, trying hard not to run back and fling the door open, tell the truth and beg Hunter for forgiveness. “I’ll need somewhere to stay while they sort out the water and gas pipes, won’t I? No matter how busy they keep me during the daylight hours, I’ll still need somewhere to sleep.”

Smith sulked towards the kitchen. “Well, your crappy news is gonna make big brother’s day.”

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	13. Falling In Love With Your Smile

Adam was numbly folding up the blankets that he’d used the last few weeks when Jade cleared his throat, hesitating in the entryway of the living room. “Knock knock,” he said shyly.

“You don’t need permission to enter your own living room,” Adam said, very soft and very reserved. Not his usual bubbling tone, and there was no hint of his easy laugh. His face was drawn, his eyes flat.

Jade was worried.

“You live here, don’t you?” Adam went on soullessly, vaguely antagonistic. Jade smiled in spite of himself. He had one hell of a sulk going.

“You don’t do anything half,” Jade said quietly, fondly. “Everything is all of your heart. When you fall, you fall hard, don’t you? No mere skinned knees for you.”

Adam’s stony face soured. He looked absolutely miserable.  
Jade sat down on the edge of the couch, frowning. “Adam, what’s wrong? Ever since this morning, you’ve been moping. Aren’t you excited about finally getting your own place?”

Adam was sick of all the lies. But there was nothing he could do—he either had to lie, or lose Jade forever. And nothing was worth that.

“No,” he said honestly, open blue eyes shooting ice down Jade’s spine, his gaze pathetic but hard. Lovesick; not that Jade could see that. Guilty, too. “I’ve never felt more at home than I have here.”

Jade, however perplexed, let Adam see his grin. Which he had never willingly done before. “I never thought I’d say this to you,” he laughed, “but you’re always welcome.”

Adam looked up sharply from where he was fiddling listlessly with the corner of a blanket. “Jade,” he said, voice sounding strained and despondent, “you hate me, don’t you?”

Jade looked surprised. “No, Adam. You’re annoying and infuriating, maybe; way too generous, and just as cocky… but I’ve never hated you.”

“That’s not true,” Adam muttered, but didn’t look up again.

“Adam,” Jade admonished, “you’re being ridiculous. Look, I’m going to miss having you around, which is something I will never admit again and Smith had better not get wind of. The worst thing you’ve ever done to me is been so terribly nice that I had no choice but to run off to my room and smile in secret.”

Adam, too, almost smiled and Jade tentatively offered, “Come to the bookstore with me?”

Adam was surprised. “You’re being friendly,” he said disbelievingly

“I suppose I am, but don’t go getting used to it,” laughed Jade, hoping Adam didn’t see his creeping blush.

Adam was preoccupied being stunned by Jade’s smile, and didn’t notice a thing.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	14. Walls He Himself Established

Jade had hoped that bringing Adam back here, to the place he’d first barged into his display and life, would remind him what a nuisance his roommate was.

As endeavors went, this one failed miserably.

No more warmth, Jade scolded himself. No more softness. His heart was threatening to get involved and he refused to let that happen, not again. If he _liked_ Adam, it would also imply that he _trusted_ Adam, and Jade didn’t want to trust anybody. Trust was only the first rung on the ladder of dependence, he reminded himself sternly. And once you reached the top rung of that ladder, the whole damn thing would tip off and spill you off into a miserable, broken pile of betrayal.

Jade squinted hard at Adam, pretending to be absorbed in his book. _Look at him_ , Jade thought, trying hard to put contempt into his thoughts. _Leaning on the counter like he owns the place, reading that damn book like he picked it out himself. Stuck-up. Annoying. Not to mention always in the way. What else? Loud. Friends with Smith, that’s never good. Immature; hopelessly romantic. Refusing to see the bad side of things. Ever. Unrealistic. Thinks life is some kind of fairy tale…_

Unaware that he was being observed, Adam dragged his fingers through his hair absent-mindedly, ruffling the coarse strands out of the state of semi-compliance they’d fallen into.

 _Good-looking_ , Jade added to the list of strikes against Adam. _No one has the right to be that good-looking. What else… he spends too much money on other people, that’s annoying. Always cooking, and then cleaning up after himself. Too perfect. Cleaning things, washing and vacuuming, making everyone around him look bad…_ Jade frowned, nonplussed. Somehow his list of bad qualities had started looking quite good, pretty appealing traits. The sort normal people would seek out in a mate, even.

Damn him for being so characteristically difficult! Why couldn’t he be childish and underfoot like always? Why did he have to be so obnoxiously unobnoxious, all quiet and kind and selfless? And for God’s sake, he could at least stop offering to help Jade do the job he was blowing off. Jade was practically quivering with indignation at the aggravation that was Adam. He ground his teeth. The uncooperative bastard. Didn’t he realize how unreasonable he was being?

 _This is so_ like _him_ , Jade thought to himself.

“You’re not going to have any molars left if you continue at that rate,” Adam remarked, noncommittal, glancing up from his book in a bored manner that positively emanated Jade. “Something on your mind?”

His tone was rough, impersonal, the voice of a man who was busy doing more important things. Devoid of its usual care, his question became callous.

Jade shrunk from Adam’s hard words. “Yes,” he confessed, struggling to keep the drowning sensation out of his voice. There was a certain desperation to him, now. He felt helpless, swept along by something much bigger than himself, powerless to stop it. The words were going to come, whether or not he was willing to admit their meaning.

Adam failed to keep a flicker of concern—love—for Jade out of his voice. No matter how determined he was to exit Jade’s life forever, there was no way to shut out love, not entirely. “What happened, Jade? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Jade blurted, all one word.

 _This is bad_ , Adam thought fiercely. _This is NOT a good thing._ Despite those screaming instincts, every cell in his body was galvanized, charged with light and laughter. He wondered if Jade noticed that he was floating a few inches about the ground, propelled by the devouring glow. He was warm with electricity, skin charged and all but buzzing. Jade’s smile made his hair stand up, reaching with static.

Nervously, Jade looked down at his hands. “There,” he said quietly. “I said it. I… like having you around.”

“Who wouldn’t like clean laundry?” Adam ventured, voicing one of Jade’s initial internal arguments. They both knew it wasn’t the case, but Adam wanted to hear Jade say it.

“It’s not just that,” Jade admitted miserably, both to Adam and himself. “It’s not the laundry or the cleaning or the food. It’s… you. I like being around _you_. I—I miss you,” he added in a rush. “When you’re not around. I miss you.”

Adam couldn’t help his laughter. Jade looked horrified, but it was too late for Adam to stop himself. He walked over to Jade, silly, crooked smile the echo of his laugh, and took Jade’s hands in his own. They were big and warm and tender and something warm swelled up in Jade’s chest, making his breath come short and dizzy.

“I knew it,” Adam declared, joy evident as his grin spread to crinkle the skin around his eyes. “I _knew_ you didn’t really hate me as hard as you pretended.”

Jade, too, had adopted a giddy smile, though his was smaller, more careful. Adam’s heartbeat pulsed into Jade’s palms. It was clear now that Adam’s heartbeat was the one that kept him alive; his own blood pumped only because Adam’s heart was active in its respective chest, never ceasing to fill Jade with such utter warmth. He’d never felt quite like that before. “Yeah, but don’t go telling people,” he heard himself say from very far away. How he’d found the presence of mind to speak, let alone sound jokingly sullen, he was too foggy-headed to comprehend. “They’d get the wrong idea about me if they knew we were friends.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Adam countered, voice low in his throat. Something flickered gold in his clear blue eyes; Jade’s breath caught and he felt his mouth go dry, thoughts threatening to take flight.

That’s when Adam kissed him.

It was better than any kiss that had ever taken an Oscar, better than any poignant screenplay. Jade’s eyes had gone soft, begging, and Adam had been moved from somewhere deep within himself, and they melted together in the fleeting instant of their kiss.

Warm; that’s what Jade felt. Warm, as if he’d been so cold for so long that he’d forgotten what heat was, what it was to feel it. And even when Adam broke away—and breathing a little harder now, Jade wished he hadn’t—some of the curious, consuming warmth remained. It was like nothing that he’d ever felt, and he wondered how he’d managed to live his whole life without knowing that touch.

Brown eyes glowing, pleading, Jade ran his hands over Adam’s broad shoulders. “I won’t tell a soul,” he murmured, voice little more than a dazed purr. A very, Adam noted, seductive purr.

Adam swallowed hard, trying not to stare at Jade’s lips. This was wrong. Everything Jade knew him as was a lie. Adam couldn’t hurt him like that—not when the word on his lips was love.

But Jade pressed himself closer, and lifted Adam’s chin with the illusion of gentleness, thought the concealed force caught Adam off guard, and Adam knew that it was too late. He was going to. He was going to hurt Jade and lose everything that had ever truly mattered to him—and in that moment, drunk on Jade’s sweetness and lingering touch, he was absolutely helpless to stop it.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	15. Blowjob Bimbos

“Hunt, I just wanted to call and say I was sorry,” Adam said into the phone, voice low. He glanced nervously down at his lap, where Jade was curled up, intent on the movie he was watching. There was no reason for Jade to suspect anything; he’d believed Adam’s half-truth that Hunter was his best friend without question. It didn’t seem like something any rational man would lie about.

Hunter’s voice came back sullen. It was the only way to hide the surprise at Adam’s decency. “Sorry? For what? Abandoning me in the hallway, or running off into the sunset with some blowjob bimbo and leaving me to take care of all the loose ends of your life?”

As soon as he said the words, Hunter flinched at their bitterness. He hadn’t meant to sound that way. He didn’t even feel that way; he didn’t know why he’d spoken like that.

Adam, too, winced, cheeks flushing. “I’ll let you get away with saying that just once,” he warned, humble and deserving. “Please. I know that I’ve never done anything even halfway decent, that I haven’t treated you like a human being in years. But you have to forgive me. I don’t want to lose you.”

“What you’re doing is wrong, Adam,” Hunter spat, unable to stop his cruel words, cringing with each one. Adam was begging; he had no right to hurt him like this. So deliberately. “You’re a fucking lying bastard and you’re gonna get caught.”

Adam felt chilled by the words, and he slid out from beneath Jade. Jade emitted a small squeak of protest but quickly nestled his head into a pillow as a substitute for Adam, not willing to miss a single second of The Ring. Privately, Adam felt like telling him that if he wanted to be properly scared, the trailer would do a much better job, but left him to his movie in peace as he stepped out onto the cramped balcony with Hunter seething in his ear.

“—And furthermore, you have absolutely no right to involve an innocent in your twisted little scheme! It’s bad enough when it’s just me you’re manipulating, because I know better, but to involve someone else—is he even legal? He looked young—”

Adam interrupted Hunter’s biting words with the stiff assertion, “He’s nineteen years old, Hunter, which is perfectly legal and you know it. It’s also,” he reminded his friend more aggressively, to cut off fresh stream of attacks, “only three years below me, so you can’t call me a pedophile either. Listen, Hunt; I don’t expect you to forgive me, or to in any way support this, but… please. What I did, what I’ve been doing, what I AM doing—all of it’s fucked up and _I know that_. You weren’t like this yesterday; what’s gotten into you? I know I’m the most pathetic excuse for a friend to walk the earth, but it wasn’t that long ago that you sighed and forgave me. What changed?”

“Just walk away from him, Adam,” Hunter demanded, lashing out with his hate. He couldn’t understand why he wanted so badly to hurt Adam anymore than he could understand his inability to stop himself. “Just leave him alone.”

“I’m trying to!” Adam exploded, frustration building. His nerves were tattered and his thoughts shaky. The morality of everything he’d ever done plagued him and he’d never been more self-hating or tormented. “Do you think it’s easy? I’ve never LOVED anyone before, Hunter! NEVER! My mother was a spiteful alcoholic and whenever my father was out on parole he never missed an opportunity to hit me. I didn’t know what love WAS until I saw him, Hunter!”

Adam had never talked about his childhood before. It was understood that, though they had grown up both painfully aware of why Adam would show up, shaking and tearstained, on Hunter’s doorstep at midnight, they wouldn’t talk about it. Even Hunter’s parents, ever sympathetic to Adam’s plight, made no mention of it. True, they invited him to stay for dinner and forced leftovers upon him and permitted more sleepovers than more than often, and he always joined them on their trip into the mountains for Christmas, and even Hunter’s little sister bought him Christmas and birthday presents; but this was the only acknowledgement of how shattered Adam’s home really was. And now, all these years later, he’d finally spoken it; there was no way Hunter could be cruel, not after that.

“Come home, Adam,” he pleaded instead. “If you love him, you’ll tell him the truth. You have to.”

“I know,” Adam said miserably. Suddenly the fight had evaporated and neither of them was sure quite what to say. “I know. But not yet. I just found him, and there will never be anyone else like him in my life. I’ve got to hold onto him for as long as I can. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” Hunter relinquished, shaken by their entire exchange. He wasn’t sure if he regretted this conversation or if he was grateful to it. “Look… before I say anything else I shouldn’t, I’m gonna go.”

“That’s probably best,” Adam agreed, voice quiet and sad. Broken and not even putting up a fight, just laying down and letting his life take its toll on him. This was the Adam he’d once known. This was the reason, Hunter realized, for the ego. For the worship. For the arrogance. Because if he didn’t have swaths of adoring fans forcing him to see himself in a good light, he was nothing but his past, scarred and torn by hatred he thought he deserved.

“Hey, Adam?” Hunter said, staring hard at the floor as if Adam would be able to meet his eyes through the phone.

“Yeah?” Adam said cautiously.

“I love you, man. If you ever… you know…” Hunter stumbled awkwardly. Of course he loved Adam; Adam was like his brother, his family. Of course they fought, of course they were petty and cruel; but they’d always understand each other on the primal, blood level they always had. That was more than benevolence and protectiveness, more than the need to defend and make proud; that was love.

“Of course,” Adam agreed. “And Hunt… of course I love you. You’re the only one that’s ever cared, you know?”

“G’night, Ad,” Hunter said, feeling more at ease, even if emotions were surging strong within him. This was a much better way to end a conversation, even if it was the last one they ever had.

“See ya,” Adam chimed lightly, hanging up the phone and sinking to his knees, forehead pressed to the railing as his breathing grew heavier until it turned into tears, quiet ones that dripped down his cheeks without protest.

So vulnerable, so broken. He was still sitting like that, crouching and leaning and crying, when Jade came out onto the balcony after him.

“Adam? Samara’s really scary,” he whimpered, pulling at Adam’s arm, recognizing Adam’s hurt but knowing he wouldn’t want to share. Instead, he did something he rarely, if ever, did; he showed his need for Adam’s company, raw and frightening as it was to lay himself bare. And Adam got to his feet and took the slighter man into his arms, burying his face in his shoulder; Jade’s thin freckled arms encircled Adam’s solid frame almost by instinct and they stood there, rocking gently back and forth, bleeding together into one.

Adam had never felt closer to anyone as he felt to the entire universe in that moment. It would take only a whisper to bruise his fragile, quaking heart; and that’s why Jade had to guard it so carefully, wrapped in his wings and sheltered from the world. It was a dramatic role reversal, but as true as the sunrise. It was only in each other’s arms that they would ever find such peace.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	16. It Starts With An S, Ends With An X, And It's Not A Baseball Team

Those next few days with Jade were the best days Adam had ever known. The first night, when they burst into the apartment shoving and laughing, they tumbled onto the couch. Jade’s smile turned tender, gaze soft, and he pulled Adam in with his eyes. They kissed slowly, at first; careful, exploring. They grow more desperate, strong with need, Jade starving to feed the hunger of the past few years, Adam struggling to fill the hollowness of his whole life up until that moment.

It was Jade’s fingers, sliding up under his shirt, that made Adam pull back. He guided Jade’s hands away, kissing his fingertips and smiling sadly. “Let’s just lay here,” he begged. “We’ve got all the time in the world to take things slow. I want everything to be perfect. There’s no rush.”

Jade returned the smile, more hesitantly, and they snuggled on the couch, talking quietly and watching the soft flicker of the TV until Adam announced Jade’s bedtime and kissed him goodnight.

 

A few days later, Jade attempted to make Adam breakfast. The sound of the fire alarm was what woke him; when he got into the kitchen, Jade was sheepishly trying to force the black smoke out the window.

“Were you trying to do something nice?” Adam chuckled lazily, leaning against the doorframe and making no motion to help.

“No,” Jade denied flatly.

Adam grinned and crossed the small kitchen with a few steps, placing his hands on Jade’s hips from behind and kissing the curve of his neck, just once. “I think you were,” Adam hummed, nestling his chin on Jade’s shoulder and slow rocking them back and forth. “I think you were cooking for me.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Jade insisted. “That’s crazy talk. I was—”

“You’re not so tough, you know,” Adam teased. “You aren’t the big bad bully you pretend to be. I can see right through you. You’re nothing but a giant, soft sap.”

Jade scowled, slapping Adam’s hands away. “I’m _not_ ,” he insisted. “I was making breakfast for _myself_. I wouldn’t have even _shared_ it with you.”

Adam laughed out loud, still humming happily as he spun away towards the bathroom and the beckoning shower.

“Where do you think you’re going?” snapped Jade.

“Shower,” Adam said pleasantly.

Jade’s tone immediately changed, no longer playfully irritated. “I can help you,” he suggested coyly, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Adam said firmly, shaking his head.

Sleeping with Jade wasn’t right, not when he was just lying to him about who he was. That would make the betrayal that much worse.

Adam felt sick with guilt. If this was how he treated the man he loved, Hunter had been right about him. He was a heartless bastard and he didn’t deserve to be happy.

“We have time,” Adam went on pleadingly. “Please. I want this to be right.”

This, too, was true. Love was not about rushed, clumsy sex; love was taking things slow. Love was timid and kind. Or at least, he was determined to make it that way. His one shot at being human—he wasn’t going to do anything to waste it.

Jade pouted, but didn’t argue. He seemed to appreciate Adam’s caution, and merely went back to scraping charred bacon from what had once been a pan.

“By the way, I know that you hate bacon,” Adam called down the hall, locking the bathroom door behind him and letting a smile warm his face. He didn’t have to be looking at Jade to see his scowl.

 

It was Sunday night when Jade finally broke Adam down. They’d been watching a movie in the living room and he’d been dozing off.

“Time to sleep, Jade,” Adam said softly, shaking the slim man’s shoulder.

“Carry me,” Jade said sleepily, nuzzling into Adam’s chest quite irresistibly. Adam was aware that this was probably a trap of some nature, an attempt to lure him into Jade’s bed. But Jade was soft and warm and his smell had bathed Adam in its warmth, intoxicated him; Adam lifted Jade carefully despite his inhibitions, pressing his only dream into his chest protectively. No matter what he’d resolved, the feeling of Jade in his arms was enough to send all the blood in his head downward and he was unable to stop himself from walking directly into Jade’s deadly lair.

He laid Jade down on his bed and kissed his forehead, giving Jade exactly the opportunity he needed. He locked his hands behind Adam’s head and caught his lips, kissing them full and hard. Breaking the kiss just as Adam tasted its desperate hunger, knowing just how cruel and tantalizing this was, especially considering the already rather snug condition of his jeans, Jade met his eyes and licked his lips. “Stay with me,” he murmured. “Don’t go.”

Adam swallowed hard. “I can’t,” he said miserably. “Not yet.”

Jade widened his eyes till Adam thought he’d fall into them. “Then just stay. Just sleep next to me. Please.”

Adam tried to say no, but something blocked up his throat. There was no part of him that wanted to do anything but stay, wrap himself in the sweet suffocating comfort of Jade. So he crawled under the covers, curling his body around Jade’s and slipping into sleep almost immediately.

He’d never slept better in his life.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	17. L is For The Way You Look Tonight

“Mr. Carson! Do you need another break, or can you finish this scene without incident sometime in the next millennia?”

The infuriated voice echoed in Adam’s head and he curled uncomfortably into a hotel room bed. It had been three weeks since the shoot started; two weeks since logic had forced him to move out of Jade’s and into this stupid fucking Hyatt.

He hadn’t seen Jade in six days, and he was losing his mind. He couldn’t concentrate on his lines, he wasn’t sleeping, he kept calling his costar Jade, and he hadn’t been hungry in days.

He was miserable.

It was almost one in the morning when he broke down and called Jade. “I’m sorry to wake you,” he said mournfully, immediately.

“You didn’t,” Jade said softly. “I can’t sleep, Adam. When are you coming home?”

Home. What a word that was. _If only you knew_.

Adam had told Jade he was spending a week or two upstate with his sister. In truth, he hadn’t seen her since before he blew off her birthday party; he had to stay on set until they finished filming a sunrise scene. This was not as simple as it sounded, as there was only an hour a day they could film and, if they spliced two different takes, the lighting would be inconsistent. Adam had yet to do a perfect take within the appropriate time parameters. He was too distracted, miserable to be away. To be living this terrible double life. There were a thousand times he’d tried to tell Jade already; he’d never been in love before, and he didn’t want to lose it. But there was no way to tell Jade without losing him. And, Adam was ashamed to admit, he was much too selfish to do that. Especially with the way he’d been living—Adam Carson by day, human by night. He’d never before realized how lonely, fake, and suffocating his public life was. Or maybe he had—but it used to be the only way to dull the raging numbness inside of him.

It was only when he heard Jade’s voice that the constriction in his chest, a terrible thing, began to lessen.

“Soon,” Adam promised. The truth was, until he did the take smoothly, he was stuck there. They worked on other scenes the rest of the day; he performed badly in those as well. Shooting was going to take months longer than expected, at this rate. He wondered if he wouldn’t get kicked off production altogether, enjoying the thought.

Maybe, if he stayed up that night—if he went over his lines till call time—if he practiced—Adam sat straight up, resolution suddenly strong. He promised, “I’ll probably be able to head home tomorrow night.”

Jade sounded pleased. “I miss living with you,” he confided happily. “It seems like we did everything backwards. I’m not used to being so far away from you.”

Adam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something weighing heavily on him and he wasn’t sure what it was. Guilt, probably. But why did he feel guilty now?

"I miss you, too. …When I get home, can I take you out to dinner?” Adam asked cautiously. It was a risk, and a stupid one. Going out in public was the dumbest thing he could do, especially with bloodthirsty tabloid reporters hungry for an inside look at his latest movie.

Suddenly he realized why he felt so oddly guilty. Not just for lying—but for proving Jade right, every step of the way. He shouldn’t have trusted anyone; he shouldn’t have let anyone in. it was a stupid mistake; Adam was only going to hurt him. Just like he’d always feared.

Jade was still speaking when Adam cried out in horrible grief. “I have to tell you something,” he whispered, voice hushed with pain.

“I’m all ears, Addy,” Jade said, sounding concerned.

Adam admitted the worst part first, before he broke down entirely. Right before the hot, guilty tears started, he whimpered, “Jade, I… I love you.”

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	18. Smith's Secret

Adam rang Jade’s doorbell at precisely seven-thirty PM two days later, bouquet of yellow tulips in hand. Standing Jade up would only make the guilt worse; this thought had carried him through the sunrise scene flawlessly. It marked the halfway point. Half the scenes were filmed. There was enough footage to make a short, disjointed version of the film. This translated to it being too late to quit. With this much progress, they wouldn’t even fire him now, no matter how badly he screwed up.

It was Smith who answered the door. “Why have you been ignoring his calls?” Smith hissed. “He thinks that you’re abandoning him like Kev did. I’ve had a hell of a time convincing him you’d show up and take him to dinner.”

Adam’s face flushed. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably. “I was just so ashamed… I figured he was only calling to tell me he never wanted to see me again after what I did. I figured the only way to win forgiveness was by seeing him, face to face, and I couldn’t do that if he forbade me to.”

“God, you’re fucked up,” Smith said in awe. “He was thrilled, Carson. Love isn’t a _bad_ thing, you know.”

Adam’s response stuck in his throat and his heartbeat drowned out all thought. Had Smith just used his real name?

“It’s Carlton,” Adam finally sputtered, uneasy. That was one hell of a slip-up. “You’re losing your grip, Smiff.”

Smith’s cold grey gaze pierced Adam’s heart. “No, it’s not Carlton,” he said calmly, voice low. “You think I didn’t know who you were from day one? But I knew that if Jade brought you home with him, there was something special about you. I couldn’t take you away from him, Adam, and that’s exactly what telling him would do.”

Adam was stunned, horrified. If Smith knew—

That meant, he dimly registered, that all along, Smith had treated him like a real person. Even while knowing the truth. That meant it could happen, meant it was possible. That meant lying to Jade had been a mistake all along.

“I don’t condone lying, and especially not to him. But telling him who you are… I don’t remember the last time I saw my brother so happy, Adam,” he said frankly, not releasing Adam’s eyes. “Now, he’ll find out in the end, because he isn’t stupid. And when that happens, it’s going to break his heart. I don’t want to live with myself, if I’m the one that does that.”

“You’re not going to tell him?” Adam said slowly, barely able to process this. It was too much.

Smith put his hand on Adam’s shoulder and smiled. “If I was going to tell him,” he said softly. “I would have done it before he got attached. No; I won’t tell him. But,” he added, voice getting harder as his eyes bored through Adam’s skull, “you are. And soon. If you really love him, you won’t be able to take the guilt much longer. And maybe that love will be enough to bring him back to you.”

“Do you think so?” Adam asked, daring to hope.

“No,” Smith said flatly. “I don’t think you’ve got a chance in hell.”

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	19. As Promised

Adam knocked softly on Jade’s door. _The first step_ , he told himself, _is getting him out of his room. Everything else will just have to come after that_.

“Jade?” he called quietly, letting himself in.

“Adam?” Jade answered weakly, throwing his book to the side and leaping off his bed. “You—you came? Just like Smith said?”

Adam took Jade in his arms, burying himself in the smell and warmth and feel of him, remembering Smith’s words. “’Course I came,” he said gruffly into Jade’s ear. “I love you.”

He steeled himself for Jade’s reaction, fearing the worse. To his endless relief, Jade only hugged him tighter. “Words like that scare me,” Jade admitted quietly.

Adam held him, smoothing his hands down Jade’s warm back. “Me too,” he murmured. “They scare me too.”

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	20. Carson Texas Ranger

Adam pulled nervously at his tie. Jade’s eyes were glittering as he gaped around him in awe. They’d driven to Berkeley, to the nicest restaurant there; Jade had never eaten a meal that cost more than thirty dollars. The foyer in Adam’s house was finer than this place; the chandeliers, he couldn’t stop himself from noticing, looked cheap. But even while he was noticing this, he knew that he was different, now. He knew it the same way something pulled at him on set, the same way he felt separate, not belonging, in what had been his natural habitat for years. He knew it the same way he knew that he’d feel like a stranger in his own house; he knew it the same way he knew he loved Jade. He was different, terribly different. He’d changed.

And he was glad.

Jade kissed him softly on the cheek, holding tightly to his arm as he gaped around the dining room. He’d only ever seen a restaurant this nice in movies.

“You can’t pay for this,” Jade insisted, holding onto Adam as if he were all that kept him anchored to reality. If he let go, he’d be lost forever, and his eyes were as excited as they were pleading.

“You deserve the best,” Adam quieted him, pulling out his chair for him. The host looked put off, but Adam’s smile and the size of the bill he slipped the man seemed to distract him. He left them with menus and excused himself.

“You just gave that man a twenty dollar bill,” Jade hissed.

“Yes,” agreed Adam.

“He didn’t do anything,” Jade pointed out.

“He seated us,” Adam laughed. “Places like this, you tip everyone. It’s like bragging.”

“But more expensive,” Jade muttered, looking uncomfortable. “Why do I get the feeling that this is going to cost as much as our rent?’

Adam’s eyes danced and he squeezed Jade’s hand on top of the table. “Don’t even think about it,” he urged, opening his menu. “Order whatever you want.”

Jade was currently scouring the menu for a price column. “It doesn’t say how much anything is!” he finally sputtered.

“If you have to ask, you can’t afford it,” the waiter, who had just materialized next to table, joked lightly, looking at Adam with eyebrow-raised interest.

“It’s so you don’t embarrass your date by choosing your meal based on price,” Adam laughed, closing his menu and ordering a bottle of wine and an expensive-sounding steak. Jade looked up at him helplessly. He was in so far over his head that he wouldn’t even be able to pronounce his meal, let alone decide on something. The menu was entirely in French, which he hadn’t spared a thought since high school.

Adam’s face melted into a soft smile. “He’ll have the same,” Adam told the less sympathetic waiter.

Jade smiled weakly, slightly more at ease as the waiter left. Taking him here had been a mistake, Adam thought. He never should have brought Jade to this world. He didn’t belong here. It was too much, too big. Neither of them belonged here, not anymore; they didn’t fit in the world of limousines and tuxedos. They came from simpler things, making love on Sunday mornings (well, almost) and sock fights. Money was frivolous, unnecessary to their way of life. Adam felt this now.

“This place is too nice,” Jade said, finally speaking. “What if I get the tablecloth dirty?”

“You can hide it under your napkin,” Adam suggested, trying not to laugh. He’d grown up poor, his family on welfare more often than not. When he’d first made his way into this world, money and glamour and lust, he hadn’t known what to do with himself, either. It was endearing to watch Jade fumble through the same things he had, not so long ago.

Jade looked horrified, clutching the thick cream-colored napkin to his chest. “And risk getting the napkin dirty?” he gasped, his tone implying blasphemy.

Adam did laugh, then. “We’ll finally get to see, then, if you can make it through a meal without spilling anything,” he mocked his companion gently.

The other man flushed, mumbling something about not being _that_ messy, which he was. Surprising as it was, however, Jade didn’t spill a drop or lose a crumb until well into his fourth glass of wine, and by then he was beyond caring about the napkin. By that point, his cheeks were quite pink and his voice had begun to carry to the next tables. Adam, who had personally christened the second bottle, was also growing considerably more at ease and didn’t mind the glances Jade attracted from time to time. He felt warm and relaxed. No one would recognize him; he wasn’t _that_ distinct of a person. It was simple, Adam and the wine had decided, to slip into anonymity. Or at the very least, drink his way there.

“I like you, Adam,” Jade informed him, smiling and holding back a wine-induced giggle.

Adam felt his whole body light up, warmed by the buzzing liquor in his veins. They both ignored a small commotion at the front of the restaurant to continue flirting. “I love you, Jade,” Adam replied.

A mischievous and languorous grin slipped across Jade’s lips. Such soft lips, Adam thought distractedly. “No, not like that,” Jade giggled. He found himself quite clever. “I mean, I _like_ you. As in, we should get back to the apartment and hope Smith isn’t there, because alcohol makes me stupid and slutty.”

Adam smiled, blush creeping up his cheeks. “Don’t think I don’t want that,” he started regretfully. They’d almost slept together, done everything but, Jade’s seductive bedside manner getting the best of him. But he still didn’t think that making their relationship about sex was a good thing; no matter how incredible their almost-sex had been, it could only make Jade’s hurt worse. When he found out. No, Adam wanted to make it perfectly clear that his interest in Jade was deeper than that. They had time, he hoped desperately, all the time in the world to have as much sex as they wanted. “Because I do. Want that. But we’ve got time, plenty of time. I don’t want anything to go wrong with this, with us.”

Jade pouted, lower lip protruding impressively. “Maybe you want time, but it’s been over a year since I’ve felt anyone’s skin against mine. Forgive me if I seem impatient, but there’s only so much time a man can take.”

However, Adam had stopped listening, eyes wide and fearful. He’d seen something beyond Jade, the source of the earlier ignored commotion, still arguing heatedly wit the maitre’d. He’d caught the glint of a camera and suddenly recognized the agitator’s face.

“Reporter,” he exhaled, voice low. How? How had anyone known?

Of course. The new movie. They were digging ,trying to get the inside scoop. Adam Carson Outed, tabloids threatened to scream. But that wasn’t what scared him. In this moment, he didn’t even care if Jade never spoke to him again—he just wanted them to leave Jade and Smith, the best things that had ever happened to him, alone. Jade was so good, so simple, so scared. He did not deserve the flashbulbs and the slander. He was better than the gossip pages. Adam got to his feet abruptly, eyes fixed on the reporter who was arguing his right to interrupt Adam’s dinner.

“Adam?” Jade giggled, delighted and very pleased with his persuasive powers. “I didn’t mean right now. We can finish eating, you know, and pay the bill.”

Adam said flatly, “Stay here, Jade. Please. It’s all I’ll ever ask of you, just stay here.”

The maitre’d was primly defending his patron’s privacy, but Adam knew that the twenty in the man’s pocket was wearing thin, especially in comparison to the handful of crumpled bills the reporter was waving.

Adam’s walk hastened to a trot and the air in his head cooled considerably. The wine no longer tinged his judgment and he knew exactly what he was doing as he barreled into the lobby. The reporter instantly whirled, snapping a picture, and Adam, temporarily blinded, grabbed him by the lapels, slamming him against a wall just out of Jade’s line of sight. “Stay away from us,” Adam growled, pressing the man hard against the wall and getting his face in close. “You just stay the hell away. You want a picture of me? Show up on set. You want a quote? Fuck you, there’s a hell of a quote. I see a single picture of my friends or this restaurant in the papers, in a magazine, on the fucking internet, and I’ll find you. If _anyone_ publishes a _word_ about him, it’ll be you I come after, so don’t go reporting any of this.”

The man’s eyes were wide and white, flecked with his terror. Adam ground his shoulders into the wall. “There are good people. Leave them alone. The next one of your kind I see won’t walk away without help, do you hear me?”  
The maitre’d crept up, politely timid. “Ah, sir?” he interrupted cautiously.

Adam only grunted, twisting his stance and swinging up his left hand, packing a vicious and lingering hook into the soft part of the man’s face. The strike was slow and slamming, all his weight and power behind it. It floored the reporter; as soon as Adam released his shirt, he was on the ground.

“Stay away from him,” Adam spat, venom dripping from his voice. The reporter clutched his camera like a life raft, eyes large and terrified. As his head cleared, Adam could understand why. Most interviews did not end in assault.

Suddenly embarrassed, Adam returned to his table, head down.

“Where’d you run off to?” Jade asked, giggles gone. He must have heard some of the noise.

Adam shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. “I’m here now, aren’t I? C’mon, let’s finish eating and get out of here. …I wanna beat Smith home.”

Jade’s eyes shone. “Have we had a change of heart, then?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

Adam blushed. “We might be able to reach an agreement,” he said lightly. Jade looked pleased, Adam’s strange behavior forgotten.

Adam poured himself another glass of wine and downed it quickly. He knew better than to think he’d solved his problem, that Jade was safe. But right now, he just wanted to forget, forget everything but the last two months. They were all that mattered, all that made him what he was. And if it took wine, lots of wine, to do that, he was more than willing.

Adam refilled his glass, raised his glass to Jade. “To us,” he said heavily. “To now.”

“To always,” Jade added softly, voice sweet.

His smile thawed Adam all the way through.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	21. Terror In The Produce Aisle

Smith was humming tunelessly, wrestling the broken-wheeled shopping cart down the middle of the aisle. Adam had sent him shopping, equipped with a long and detailed list. Without the ability to prepare their meals and supervise their protein intake, Adam was worrying himself sick about whether or not they were eating properly. He’d even made them a little recipe box.

Jade poked his head around the end of the aisle, grimacing at his younger brother. “I can’t find the eggs,” he complained, setting a gallon of milk into the mostly empty cart. “I got coffee grounds, though, which can probably count for eggs.”

Smith nodded, immediately seeing the wisdom in this and crossing eggs off the list. “Both breakfast foods,” he agreed. “Good. He had bottled water, but I figured he just forget the word for beer while he was making the list, so I got some Sam Adams.”

“Ooh, classy,” Jade approved, studying the half of the list he’d been given. It was more of a scavenger hunt than a shopping trip. “Powdered instant breakfast—check,” he read off, gesturing to a handful of Kool-Aid packets nestled in the cart. “Fruit, white bread, frozen vegetarian pizza—check.” He dropped Pop-Tarts, onion bagels, and the two deep dish sausage pizzas into the cart. Adam wanted them to eat more healthily. In Jade’s opinion, the endeavor was going quite well.

“I’ve still got salad, croutons, and lunch meat,” Smith concluded, surveying his list. “Oh, and some Coke, because that’s the same as seltzer water. Did you find paper towels?”

“Paper plates, same thing,” Jade answered seriously. “Now, I don’t know about this salad business, but there’s some chips we can use for croutons at the end of this aisle. Oh, or we can get Fruit Loops or something like that. Is there any way I can justify Oreos?”

Smith began scouring the careful and precise list for loopholes. Before Jade could so much as laugh, however, there was a blinding flash of light and his surprised face was immortalized forever on a roll of film. The man with the camera looked a bit worse for the wear, and he charged at them like a man driven mad by desperation.  
Either that, or he was really, really pissed.

Smith had a look on his face like the time Jade found out he had thought John Travolta was sexy in Grease. Jade was pale, confused, and laughing uncertainly.

“Jade Puget!” the man yelped, skidding to a half and snapping another picture. Smith, face now grim and like ash, shoved the cart in the reporter’s direction and grabbed Jade’s arm.

“We have to get out of here,” Smith hissed, decision to save Adam thoughtless. “Don’t look at him, don’t speak.”

He took off at a run, Jade at first dragging behind and then catching up, pulling ahead, and breaking free. He leapt skillfully over a Diet Rite display, sharp laugh escaping as he landed and burst through the door. Smith hopped onto the display, pushing off it to vault over a shopping cart that threatened to compromise his escape route. Slapping to the ground, rolling, and stumbling to his feet, he tailed Jade out the door at top speed. He glanced back once, the reporter panting back in the dairy aisle, before diving into the passenger seat of their excuse of a van.

As Jade sped out of the parking lot, cheeks flushed and laughing, Smith braced himself for the questioning. It was, he felt, inevitable. That Jade had cooperated was, in itself, a remarkable anomaly; his brother was far more likely to have sat down on the cold grocery tile, glared, and bad-naturedly demanded an explanation in such a situation. That Jade, his very own Bottle Green, was willing to play along, to laugh, was reason enough for Smith to protect Adam’s secret. His lie was, Smith felt, understandable—he’d probably never meant to do so much for them, to mean so much in their lives. And look what that lie had allowed him to do for them—for Jade.

As his adrenaline levels retreated in the direction of normal, Jade’s breathing slowed and he finally asked the obvious question.

“The fuck?” There was laughter in his voice, same as in his eyes. His question was not threatening, not even expectant—he didn’t think Smith knew any more than he did.

And why should he?

All the same, Smith bit his lip. Lie. Lie to Jade. His brother, his sad sullen Jade. Their whole life together would change, if Jade found out about such a blatant lie.

Or, Smith could rob him of his happiness. He could either lie to his brother or take Adam away from him.

Oh, the joy of choices.

Smith felt sick. “Fun,” he said, confidence false but rising in his tone. “I don’t know what that was, but it was pretty fucking fun. You were in rare form.”

Jade laughed. For once in his life, the simple answer was enough. “So much for our groceries, though,” he laughed, smile wide and genuine. A smile Smith had nearly forgotten, before this. Before Adam.

How could he possible be the one to take that away, to kill that smile? Smith knew that if it came down to it, he would lie. To Jade. Of all people.

But he wouldn’t lie for Adam, or even for himself. If he was going to lie, he was going to do it for one person only: Jade.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	22. Publicity Stunt

“Come out with us tonight, Adam,” begged Alicia, Adam’s skinny blond love interest. She’d changed out of her skanky metallic jumpsuit and was now in her equal skanky designer-label street clothes. She’d left, however, her stage makeup; dramatic silver swoops of eye shadow, lipstick dark and bold, glitter dusting her flatteringly prominent cheekbones. Her hair was twisted up in a messy bun, and Adam knew that Miss Maxim 2006 was at her finest, beyond breathtaking, beyond beautiful. “I hear you’re good for a party, but so far you’ve just run home after every shoot. Tail between your legs.”

Adam scowled. He wanted to snap her elegant fucking neck. “My agent’s been working me pretty hard,” he lied grudgingly. The usual excuse. Would that he could just tell her she was a dumb, air-headed bimbo! Or better yet, the truth. He had Jade to go home to, a scholar next to her—intelligent, beautiful, scared. Clever and sharp and buried. Why would he ever choose Alicia over a beauty so lethal it could cut him, lips so soft they could make him bleed?

Alicia slipped her slim little fingers into his jacket pocket, fishing his orange Trio out of the cracked brown leather. She wiggled it in front of his face and his eyes screamed with the ice winds of the arctic; a gaze that could sink the Titanic.

“Call him,” Alicia demanded, pulling her covergirl lips into a shining red pout, voice sultry and sulky and spoiled. Some men might call her sexy; to Adam she was a whining child. “Ask for the night off. For _me_?”

Her bleat made Adam’s skin crawl. He grabbed the phone back roughly, his voice a growl. Fuck her. Fuck her and her filthy, slimy flirting fingers. She’d leave him the fuck alone if she knew what was good for her. But if she wanted a reason, fine. He’d give her a fucking reason. And if that wasn’t good enough, he’d just fucking shoot her in the face.

Hunter answered on the second ring, phone at his side as always. “Alicia wants me to go out with the cast tonight,” he said quickly, under his breath, discreet but still managing to slather a particular name in spite. “I don’t suppose you could manage to give me the night off.”

“Actually, Ad—” Hunter started.

“You’re ridiculous, Hunt. Totally unfair,” Adam said tonelessly, making no effort to sound sincere. “How ‘bout you come with us. That change your mind?”

It was a threat, as Hunter despised the shallow stars even more than Adam had come to, but also an offer. He was giving Hunter opportunity to punish him, saying without words that he was sorry, humbling himself.

“You need the publicity,” Hunter answered honestly. He didn’t want to make his friend suffer, even after all they’d been through, but he wasn’t going to lie, either. “You’ve got to give yourself to the media or they’ll start looking for you. They’ll dig up something you might not want them to find.”

Adam suddenly felt sick, light-headed and scared; not altogether different from the feeling he imagined he’d have were he in the path of an oncoming train. There was more meaning in those words than Hunter lay bare. “All right,” he agreed, mind on Jade, the curve of his neck, the way his tapered fingers hovered over his skin, afraid to touch, hesitant but sweet. He saw the milk-pale skin, the freckles, the glasses that so often went askew— “I’ll do anything, just keep him safe. Please.”

“No promises,” Hunter said, softened by the begging edge in Adam’s voice. “Where should I meet you and Miss Alicia, and when?”

When Hunter met them outside a club, marked by a sign screaming of neon and hangovers, he slipped a magazine into Adam’s coat and his arm around Alicia, kissing her hand and murmuring a greeting in his trademark suave French. She giggled, delighted by Hunter’s tried-and-true red carpet act, and cooed, “So I finally meet the infamous slave driver.”

Personally, Adam was impressed that she had successfully maneuvered the word ‘infamous’ out of her head and into the air, even more impressed that it had been in her head in the first place. Hunter, however, was the picture of a gentleman, pulling a face of shock and hurt.

“Adam, have you been lying about me again?” Hunter asked, false charm oozing so thick Adam wanted to laugh.

Or possibly gag. He did neither; his throat had been closed by the cold glossy pages pressed against his skin. Hunter wouldn’t have been so secretive if it wasn’t something bad.

He imagined the worst, a thousand scenarios. _Jade Puget: Whore Of The Stars. Adam Carson’s Closet Lover. Ukiah Nobody Harbors Star._ The last thing Jade could forgive, his secrets painted across page five. That would be betrayal in the worst way.

Adam sat numbly at the bar inside the club while Hunter and Alicia danced. He proceeded to throw back several straight vodkas, getting drunker and drunker until finally, slinking and sweating, Alicia begged him for a dance and he agreed. She ground herself against him under some pretense of the bass line, fluttering her fake lashes and doing her best to look alluring. The thought of her sloppy kiss repulsed Adam; he’d fucked plenty of girls just as pretty as Alicia, but he’d never wanted any of them. It was Jade, only Jade, that he wanted—yes, there was always lust, but wanting to get off and waiting to be with that one, only person; these were different things.

Alicia’s pout threatened to split her head in two, a horrible bleeding puppet, and Adam lurched back towards the bar. She wrapped her sticky hands around him, desperate, claws scraping, and that’s when the flashbulb went off three inches to the left of Adam’s nose. He resisted the urge to lash out; it felt altogether too good to beat a reporter and he couldn’t afford to make a habit of it. Besides, blinded as he was, he was nine times as likely to start a massive club brawl by punching Mr. Harley Davidson in the face as hitting the offending paparazzi. Instead, he struggled free from Alicia and let the reporter run off with his prize, Adam’s sweaty face, pupils wide and black and drunk, clenched in his teeth.

It would keep them away from Jade, he told himself grimly. That was worth any sort of sacrifice, far more than some night club photographs.

Something brushed Adam’s skin inside his jacket where his sweater pulled up, sending a soberingly painful tingle straight to his heart. Jolted back to the real world, the one he’d nearly forgotten in all his time away, he signaled to Hunter and then the door. It would have to suffice as a good-bye; far more than the old Adam would have given, regardless of whether or not Hunter had even seen him through the writhing crowd and pulsating strobe lights, let alone decoded his vague hand signal.

Adam slipped out the side door, past the bouncer, and wriggled away from the puking man hunched just outside the doorway.

He leaned against the gritty bricks, not as cool as he’d hoped they would be, peering through the shadows at the nightmare he slowly pulled out of his jacket.

There. Front cover.

 _Carson’s Secret Revealed_.

It was the Star, he noted grimly, a gossip rag. It wasn’t even a J14 or Teen People; not many people would read it. The photo was small and grainy; unclear. He could deny that it was even him in the photo; even easier would be the denial of Jade’s blurry, pixilated gender. Who could be sure? The reputation of the magazine further undermined the photo. Adam was almost relieved until he flipped the thing open.

A profile of Jade’s laughing face stared back. It was taken in the bookstore, a reporter posing as a customer.

And Jade didn’t know. Why would he? Adam’s skin crawled, his veins burning. It made him physically sick. His sweet, naïve Jade—he needed to be protected, not exploited.

The article below Jade’s face implied that they were lovers. It even featured quotes from a certain resident of the Puget’s building—

_‘“I saw him doing laundry,” says neighbor Miranda Applegate. “He was acting strange. I never thought it was because he was hiding a boyfriend. Juan Delahun, a homo?” Ms. Applegate had nothing further to say.’_

Further down the page, there was a grainier photo of Smith’s sneering face. The caption wondered, ‘Another of Carson’s love interests?’

Pale, sweating, and now shaking, Adam was freezing and nauseous as he threw the magazine aside. He thought over his options numbly. He could go on threatening every camera he sniffed out with death, but what good would that do? He could leave; he could run away and never speak of either Jade or Smith again. But what would happen to them? Jade would be broken, his brightness gone out forever, his light lost to the world—he’d never trust, or love, again. And for what? Was there any guarantee that his flight would draw the media circus away, or would it just make them pester Jade that much more?

And a life without Jade… Adam shook his head, feeling sicker than ever. He’d rather be dead than without Jade. Jade was all he had, anymore. The only thing in his life with meaning.

One option. That left just one option.

Adam kicked the magazine into the gutter, where he surmised it belonged, and marched back into the club. Alicia’s glinting platinum hair, tumbled free and waving from its bun, made her easy to find, even if her slinky glittering halter top, glaring aquamarine sequined vinyl, hadn’t. She was at the bar, the look on her face implying she’d like to pour her drink on Hunter and stalk off in search of her runaway costar. As charming as she may have found the man, he clearly wasn’t the one whose bed she was trying to worm her way into. Adam also sighted a reporter quickly, eyes adjusting almost immediately to the swaths cigarette smoke and incessant strobe light. He elbowed his way through the crowd, making sure to flash his famous face at the reporter, who discreetly assumed a tail. Satisfied that this moment would be caught on film, he strode across the room to Alicia and Hunter. He grabbed Alicia by the waist, spun her around, and planted his lips firmly over hers. Flashbulbs exploded all around them, immortalizing the martyred kiss, and as soon as he was sure they had People-worthy material, obliterating the conspiracy theory based on a bad photograph that may have been of Adam and a man, who conceivably could have been a woman with short hair, a woman with long hair, with someone entirely separate from Adam or, indeed, merely Adam’s friend, he pulled away.

Alicia looked up at him, eyes big and dewy, and breathed in one word, “Oh Adam.”

He interrupted her swoon by dropping his arms from around her (he imagined to himself that it made a truly horrifying sweat-vinyl-suction noise) and wriggling out of her talons. “Gotta run,” Adam said, half-apologetic but mostly desperate to escape before he did, in fact, projectile vomit all over her. Although that might win the headline, it didn’t sound terribly pleasant.

Alicia looked wounded and Hunter, whom Adam decided must be a patron saint, mercifully intervened.

“Sorry, princess,” he said, grinning. “Charming’s gonna turn into a pumpkin if he lingers and longer.” Hunter shouldered Adam forward into the crowd, and Alicia sulked into the lap of the nearest eligible, vaguely-good-looking-enough, man.

Laughing at the absurdity of his own pathetic life, feeling a bit like crying, and overall pretty damn nauseous, Adam leaned heavily on Hunter’s shoulder as they made their way out of the club and down the street. The sun was just beginning to rise, coloring the streets like pale Easter eggs, and Adam’s head was spinning, stomach lurching.

Hunter put his jacket over Adam’s shoulders, rubbing his back every now and then. His friend was shivering and pale; walking off the shock was the best thing for him right now. Hunter was proved correct when Adam pulled away from Hunter’s frame, folded to his hands and knees, and threw up on the sidewalk.

Hunter crouched next to him, sighing worriedly. Maybe it would’ve been better not to show Adam. But what other way was there to tell him to be more careful, to have a more public image so close to a film release? There was no gentle way to make him listen.

Hunter helped Adam to his feet, a clinging phantom of the man he’d been. Could he take Adam away from Jade, the one who’d changed him into such a better person? No; he couldn’t bear to. But he couldn’t protect the two of them, either. Adam had to do that.

“It’s not fair,” Adam choked weakly, tears quivering at the end of his long, dark lashes. “I know I don’t deserve him, but I can’t lose him. Not yet. I’ll die.”  
Hunter was surprised by the sadness in Adam’s words. Instead of melodrama, they echoed with truth.

“Why should you ever lose him?” Hunter asked softly, carefully, clutching Adam’s arm as he stumbled. “If you love him… why can’t you love him always? I’m sure he’ll understand, Adam. Anyone who means so much to you… they’d have to understand.”

Adam shook his head. “I’m a liar,” he said softly, eyes wide and soulful. “If I’d been honest, he’d never had spoken to me. If I’d known then what I’d feel now, if I’d waited, changed my life and then gone back to him, it would have been too late for him to change me. I love him too much to lie forever—don’t you understand? It had to be this way. There was never any other option.”

Hunter had never seen his friend behave so pessimistically before; even in the darkest, most helpless parts of his life, he’d had hope. A kind of brightness about him that, in the end, had saved him; a light people fell in love with, helped even till their last breath.

Hunter was awed.

“Adam, you sound… wise,” he finally said.

Adam shrugged, feeling very much like he was going to throw up again and that he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if this time it was all over himself. “I guess that’s what happens when you realize what a faithless bastard you are,” he said wearily.

Hunter couldn’t help it. He laughed.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	23. Vindicated

“Smith, why hasn’t he called?” asked Jade quietly. He was so afraid, so achingly vulnerable. Smith bit his lip.

“I’m sure he just has a lot on his mind,” Smith said evasively. “His house needs new plumbing, remember? Maybe there was some kind of… ew… complication.”

Jade clutched at his afghan more tightly, burrowing into the couch as he stared disinterestedly at the Cobsy show rerun. “Change the fucking channel,” he demanded crabbily. “I’ve got my dose of comedic ethnicity for the day, thanks.”

Smith was absolutely delighted that the moody, sullen side of his brother he knew so well had once again reared its bitchy head. He tossed the remote at Jade half-heartedly, and Jade irritably started flipping channels. “God, I hate this show. …‘Whores In New York’, that’s what they should call this bullshit… No, actually, some of us fucking _hate_ Raymond… Jesus fuck, being shot would be less painful than watching _this_ special breed of idiocy…”

Smith rolled his eyes, tuning his brother out as he honed in on his crossword puzzle. Maybe, just maybe, today he’d finish one. Or get more than seven answers down before Jade grumbled, snatched it, and finished it in five minutes as was tradition in the pre-Adam days.

He didn’t look up as Jade continued passing bitter judgments and surfing channels ruthlessly; in fact, Smith didn’t look up at all until Jade fell silent, the only sound explosions and exciting music that could only belong to a movie trailer. Satisfied that his bitching once again had an audience, however, Jade quickly resumed his monologue, gesturing to the TV set with the remote.

“This looks like such shit,” he complained, sneering as the villain advanced on the beautiful love interest with a fearsome, futuristic-looking gun. Smith recognized the trailer a second too late, lunging for the power button as Adam’s face swam on the screen, blue eyes wide and clear.

“I’m coming for you,” his familiar voice promise, fading into the release date as the music reduced to a highly climactic drumbeat, which in turn merged perfectly with the amplified beating of a human heart.

The set went off with a pop, too late to undo the damage. Helpless, Smith knelt in front of it. Too late. Too late.

“Smith?” a sliver of Jade’s voice begged, a feeble squeak. “Why was Adam just on TV?”

He was begging. Begging Smith to tell him it wasn’t true, it was someone else. Someone who looked like Adam and sounded like Adam but, somehow, wasn’t.

Idiot. Adam was such a fucking idiot. How could Jade not find out? Especially with a fucking TV spot. What, was Smith supposed to put his foot through the TV, drop it out the window? Of course Jade was going to find the truth. It was inevitable. No matter how naïve, Jade wasn’t dead. There were some aspects of pop culture no one could evade forever.

Smith swallowed hard. “Looks like he’d gonna be in The Infidel,” he said weakly, hoping he sounded wan and sympathetic. The truth. He was going to tell Jade the truth.

“That’s not FUNNY!” cried Jade, voice rising several decibels and breaking. He was about to cry.

“No, it’s not,” agreed Smith slowly. There was definitely no way out of this. Not even the lovechild of Indy and Bond could get out of this one scot-free. “I’m sorry, Jade. I think that Adam’s the only one who can answer your questions now.”

“I just want to know what’s going on,” whispered Jade, tears beginning to pour down his face. “Please.”

Smith didn’t say anything, and Jade ran out of the room and down the hall. Once his door had slammed shut, Smith felt sufficiently alone to scream various words for ‘Adam’ at the top of his goddamn lungs.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	24. Like A Train Wreck, You Shouldn't Look But You Can't Stop Yourself

The cold static of the air told him things were changing.

With a slow and stinging sense of dread coiled tight in his gut, threatening to strike at any terrible moment, Jade pulled open the mailbox in front of the house. It was small, with dirty yellow siding and an overgrown flowerbed in the front. It looked home-like enough, the sort of place you’d be happy to return to, maybe enjoy some lemonade on the front porch. Any kid could tell you just by looking that the owner of that house would buy all the right kinds of candy on Halloween, but probably only give you two pieces. Simple curtains, quality of their crafting evident even from the sidewalk, blotted out the windows. Not that he could have judged the furnishings to be in Adam’s taste or not, Jade thought bitterly, when he apparently knew so very little about Adam at all.

Jade drew a handful of mail from the box. A bill or two, some junk mail, a magazine—nothing conclusive but the addressee. ‘Mr. Adam Carson’, the envelopes uniformly boasted. Not a Carlton to be seen. Jade hoped against hope it was only an eerie coincidence, that he was somehow wrong and that Adam would be hurt and offended before pulling out his birth certificate and resume and proving, for once and for all, that he was neither a liar nor an actor (although, upon reflection, the terms did prove rather synonymous), that instead of this being Adam’s house, he’d simply gotten the address wrong.

Carlton. Jade played with the name in his mind until it lost all meaning. Carlton, Carlton, Carson. Yes, it was possible, all too possible.

After everything, Adam, his Adam, had been no better than the rest. Than Kevin.

The only thing left to do was figure out what, exactly, Adam had been lying about. Other than being a filthy rat bastard actor, and loving him.

Jade marched up the unevenly paved walkway, not allowing his self-righteous fury to waver a second before throwing open the door. It seemed to have been locked, but with a not altogether sturdy mechanism; a few ferocious jiggles and slight encouragement from his shoulder and it was all too happy to swing open.

“Adam!” Jade bellowed, clutching the mail in his fist and storming through the house, which was modestly furnished after all. Simple but tastefully expensive furniture filled its bright rooms and all the appliances were sparkling. His tirade ended in the kitchen with the sight of a well-built, brown-haired man sitting at the polished oak table, which was small, round, and pleasantly used-looking. Something that had probably cost twice as much, Jade snarked to himself.

The man as sifting through piles of important-looking papers, a look like death drawn over his otherwise pleasant, irreverent features. His hairline retreated back from Jade like a turtle from its shell, and his prickling stubble gave his face a warm look. His clear blue eyes, somehow radically different from Adam’s, appeared as though they’d normally dance and laugh, but for the moment were only clouded.

Puzzled, Jade stopped short. Was _this_ Adam Carson? Had he just barged into the wrong man’s house?  
Feeling slow, stupid, humiliated and used, Jade’s indignation and anger fled, leaving him clinging to the stolen mail like it could stop his shaking.

The man at the table looked up, eyebrows high on his forehead in surprise. He wore a brown button-down shirt open over a black t-shirt and snug blue jeans, the picture of class and comfort; Jade felt his eyes fill with tears as the man got cautiously to his feet.

“Adam doesn’t live here, does he,” Jade mumbled miserably, staring fiercely at the ground.

“At the moment, Mr. Carson is staying elsewhere,” Hunter said carefully, convinced he was dealing with a deranged fan and cursing Adam for not replacing the decrepit lock before it cost someone their life.

“But who’s Mr. Carson?” Jade wailed, finally snapping. He hurtled the mail at Hunter, screaming at the ceiling, “I’m so fucking sick of all these lies!”

Suddenly Hunter realized why the boyish features and freckles were so maddeningly familiar. This was the man from the magazine, Adam’s ‘secret lover’. The one he’d given up everything for.

“You must be Jade,” he said, offering his hand in greeting. Jade stared at it like it was a zombie cockroach he’d like very much to beat to death with a five-foot shovel, and Hunter retracted it after an uneasy pause. “I’m Hunter,” he introduced himself cautiously. “I don’t imagine you’ve heard anything about me, but—”

“I have,” Jade said suspiciously, eyeing Hunter with quite justified mistrust. “You’re Adam’s best friend. Unless that was a lie too, and you’re the reason he’s so fucking reluctant to sleep with me.”

Hunter sighed. Jesus Christ, just what he needed, a jealous and hysterical lover. His eye-roll must have been obvious, because Jade apologized immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rank with humility. “I shouldn’t be angry with you. You certainly didn’t lie to me; I’ve never even seen you before. I’m not at my best; you’ll have to forgive me. I’m a little… stressed… at the moment.”

Hunter smiled guiltily. “No, you can be angry with me. As the best friend, I was semi-obligated to warn you. And I was going to, as soon as Adam told me that he loved you. I’m his agent—and his best friend, that was true, I’ve known him since I was four—so I’m well aware of how selfish he can be. I couldn’t sleep right, knowing he was using some innocent guy. But when I tracked you down, showed up at your door, he was so different—I could see it in his eyes. A better man. Caring about other people, being treated like everyone else, having to work for approval and friendship—he wasn’t so hard, anymore. Softer, less afraid. Learning how to trust, how to love—I couldn’t take that away, that peace. He was like the Adam I used to know, years and years ago. When things were at their worst, he was always at his brightest.”

“And that bought off your conscience?” Jade sniffed, trying hard to be catty but actually fairly moved by Hunter’s monologue.

“Oh no,” laughed Hunter, eyes lightening. He liked this Jade. “I just haven’t been sleeping right for months.”

Jade, too, had to laugh at this, joining Hunter’s open, humorless laughter that told Jade he was being honest as well as funny. The noise almost entirely failed to block out the echo in his head of his own words so long ago: _lonelier than either of us could ever fathom_. Realizing he’d said that to the very man he’d been criticizing, however, silence him.

“Hunter,” he said, tone sober again, “you have to help me. How foolish have I been? How big of a deal is Adam? I—I need to know everything.”

“Remember when Leonardo DiCaprio played Jack in Titanic?” Hunter asked mirthlessly. “Okay, now add the Backstreet Boys and multiply it by two. He’s bigger than that.” From somewhere in his massive stack of busywork, Hunter produced that month’s new People, fresh off the press. “Page 46,” he instructed. “That should explain the rest.”

Jade took the magazine and opened it as Hunter instructed. And, about a third of the way through it, he was met dead on with Adam’s grinning face. His smile was brilliant, adorably off center, and his eyes were alive, even on low-grade glossy stock. His nose was the same distinctly Adam angle as ever and his hair was tousled, refusing to be tamed. But it was an old picture—you could tell by the emptiness behind his eyes. On his arm was a lithe, voluptuous blond. Below this there was the headline, and another photo.

It stopped Jade’s heart.

Sweaty and drunk-looking, Adam was attached by the tongue to another blond, whose pores were absolutely enormous due to the ultra-zoomed nature of the shot. The airbrush staff was ruthless. Adam’s eyes were opened, looking terribly sad, and in the sliver of space between their lips was a pink fleshy wad of the girl’s tongue. Jade recognized the shirt Adam was wearing, the collar pushed up against his neck—it was new, light blue to match his eyes. He’d gotten it only three days ago. They’d shopped for it together.

Jade skimmed the article, words spinning faster than even the world and scarcely discernable. It was little more than a résumé, movies he’d been in and women he’d slept with. Apparently this very public make-out session was his reappearance after a long period of evading the spotlight.

It was like Kevin all over again, but a thousand times worse.

Breathing much like he’d just had a cold, long knife plunged into his reeling gut, Jade’s mind swam with questions. Most of them started with ‘why’ and ended with ‘fucking shitbitch suckspit dickhead bastard’.

Hunter steadied Jade, holding him up as he gasped for air. “Oh, please, why don’t you throw up,” he muttered to himself. “Then this can be exactly the same as last night, and let me tell you, _that_ was a thrilling and enjoyable experience. I was just hoping to myself I’d get the opportunity to repeat it…”

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	25. Suite 413

Hunter had been brimming with explanations, but Jade hadn’t wanted to hear them. Any excuses there were, he resolved, Adam would tell him personally. And then they’d never speak again.

Leaving Hunter quite flustered, words dripping down his face and mingling with agitated sweat, Jade slipped into the decrepit van with the magazine crumpled tightly to his chest. Before pulling away, he took several deep breaths and took stock of his current situation.

 _His_ Adam Carlton was _the_ Adam Carson, a man whose inane but wildly popular films he himself had seen and scoffed on more than one occasion. The man who had claimed to love him just days earlier was not only a liar, but also an actor, and therefore despicable in every way. He had been lied to, used, made a fool of, and now, to add injury to insult—or possibly the other way around—he was abandoned. Alone.

Love. Jade played with the word in his mind, rolling and stretching and shaping it until it was perverse enough to suit his mood. Love was a lie people told to get sex, he decided, and a ugly façade people bought into when they were too old and wrinkled to get laid otherwise. Love was a fierce lie, the oldest and most gruesome that existed in the world. Love was, Jade resolved grimly, the ultimate weakness. He must have imagined any warmth he’d felt towards Adam; any ‘special bond’ had only been lust skewing his perception of the real world. Adam had cheated on him, smack in the middle of People, and with a woman.

Now that he thought about it, the whole situation seemed pretty fucking familiar, didn’t it?

Jade drew himself up, starting the van, which clunked suspiciously and turned over none too quickly. Well, fuck him. Fuck everyone. What did he care? He didn’t need Adam. He didn’t need _anyone_. There wasn’t love, there was only sex (not that they’d had a lot of it), and he could get that wherever and whenever he wanted it. He could get laid in the middle of Sunday mass in the goddamn Vatican if he felt like it! He could get sex at a funeral. So why the fuck did he need Adam?  
Once that important fact had been resolved, Jade was feeling self-righteous enough to drive directly to the address Hunter had given him, the hotel Adam was supposedly holed up in. When Jade asked suspiciously why he was hiding there, Hunter simply said, “To draw reporters away from Ukiah. I hear it’s also convenient to be on set when you’re filming.”

It was difficult for Jade to believe that the first part had anything to do with it, at least until Hunter said that Jade had already been in a gossip magazine. “He beat the hell out of the guy who took the photo,” he added, running his fingers through his cowardly hair exasperatedly. “You wouldn’t _believe_ the attorney notices I’m getting about _that_ happy little incident.”

Jade shook this smudge of redemption as far from his mind as he could. It would do no good to confront the treacherous bastard with any kind feelings left in his heart.

His legs shook badly as they carried him into the hotel. His voice was a thin whine by the time he reached the front desk. “I need to see the occupant of suite 413,” he said, reed-like voice making the assertive demand into a feebly uncertain request.

“Name, please,” the plastic secretary said sweetly, rolling her eyes. Hunter had told him what to say to get in, the code name that would get him a room key.

But Jade was tired of all the lies. There was also no way that this woman would believe his name was Beauregard the Jaguar-Slayer and, despite how clever Hunter had fancied himself when he made the reservation, Jade simply couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Jade Puget,” he said honestly, hoping against hope she’d let him in without his name being on the list.

The receptionist frowned. No Peaceable Beings Allowed, Jade envisioned a sign behind the desk. No Entry Without Jaguar Pelt. “Sorry, no clearance for—did you say James Turgent? I’m sorry, sir. Would you like to leave a message for our guest?”

“No,” Jade said, another idea seizing him. “No, I’ll just go back to my room. Thanks for all the help,” he added, voice sickly with fake sweetness. The receptionist’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes scowled so fiercely that her gaze nearly knocked him over. _In another lifetime_ , he thought appreciatively, _that woman and I could have had something special_.

He scurried over to the elevators, knowing Demon Barbie, prospective soul mate or not, neither believed his story nor cared enough to stop him.

In the elevator, quickly ascending to Adam’s floor, Jade bounced listlessly on the balls of his feet. “Nice day,” he said to the small old man who was the sole other occupant of the cramped elevator, reflected thousands of times in the mirrors. It only made him seem smaller.

The man eyed Jade uneasily. It had been raining for several hours and, in his opinion, anything but a nice day. The way Jade smiled also frightened him, glittering carnivorous teeth, pointed and lethal. The look in his eyes, the old man felt, was unsettled. Like he might, at any time, fly into a psychotic outrage concerning the color of his socks.

“If you like this sort of weather,” the man conceded cautiously, hoping not to set Jade off.

“I love it,” Jade told him cheerfully. “Think it’s marvelous. What’re you up to this fine day?”

Now more than a little ruffled, the suspicious man cleared his throat miserably, growing more and more certain that he was going to die in this elevator. When the gesture did not indeed rescue him from the elevator death trap, he admitted, “Visiting family in town. Yourself?”

He looked terribly apprehensive, worried Jade would attempt to continue the conversation.

“Oh, I’m on my way upstairs to murder my boyfriend,” Jade confided amiably, confirming the old man’s worst fears. “He lied to me. Can’t contend with that, lying. It’s a nasty habit. And I was too fucking stupid to know, that’s the worst of it.” Still cheerful, he whirled on the old man, voice getting more serious as he demanded, “You aren’t a liar, now, are you?”

Terrified, the man was paralyzed by Jade’s words, not speaking or moving or breathing. He managed to squeak something that sounded almost like ‘no’, and Jade nodded, humming cheerfully and bouncing back on his heels. “Well, that’s very good,” Jade told him conspiratorially. “I’d hate to have to kill you too.” He laughed quietly at his little joke, priding himself on being very clever, and just seconds later the elevator stopped on Adam’s floor. Still laughing softly and waving, Jade bid the man farewell and left him alone in the elevator with his relief and racing Pacemaker.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***THE ENDING PATHS DIVERGE HERE***
> 
> From this point on, proceed directly to Chapter 26 for Ending One. 
> 
> If you want Ending Two, which was written by request of many readers who were left disturbed and unfulfilled by Ending One, proceed instead to Chapter 30: You're Still Something. Ending Two is fluffier and happier all around. 
> 
> Both endings suit the story in different ways; feel free to try them both and weigh in!


	26. A Fish Caught In The Noose Of The Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****THE PATH FOR ENDING ONE BEGINS HERE****
> 
> Called "brutal," "out of character," and "unnecessary" (as well as other more complimentary things), this Ending One is not for the faint of heart. It was also not the original planned ending, but at 17 I found this version irresistibly poetical and romantic, so I let it sweep me away.
> 
> To read Ending Two, go directly to Chapter 30: You're Still Something.

Adam frowned, tipping the bottle back further. Empty? It couldn’t be empty so soon.

He let his fingers slip from around its neck and it plummeted down from the balcony. Adam imagined the sound it made, hitting the ground and shattering, would be similar to his heartbeat.

His thoughts ran circles. He’d cheated on Jade by kissing Alicia. But he’d kissed Alicia to keep Jade out of the papers. He’d betrayed the man he loved—and it he’d done it, done everything, for the same man. Jade, his Jade.

“What have you done to me?” he moaned, low in his throat. His head reeled. He didn’t even know who he was anymore, he was so wrapped up in Jade. Jade’s fingers, Jade’s eyes, the soft smell of Jade that clung to him, sometimes staying on his clothes after they’d parted, the way his voice changed when he was annoyed…

Adam knew how the bottle had sounded, knew the shards of half the mini-bar littered the Los Angeles sidewalks. But now, as he looked down twenty-four stories, he wondered what sound he would make; a thick dull slap of meat. Would he splatter? Would you hear that the same way you heard the glass?

He was sick, crazy, consumed. Jade was his every thought, his only thought. The only reason he was here, poised on this balcony. The only reason he was in this hotel, in Los Angeles, in the world. Why was he alive, if not for Jade?

“Stop it,” he murmured, dragging his palm across his eyes. “Goddamn you, get out of my head. Let me—just let me think.”

Adam stood, lining up his feet with the balcony railing, breaths coming deep and hard. Drunk, unsteady, he wrapped his hands around the rail as he eased his left foot over, half on the tiny lip on the other side of the railing, slipping on the bolts and cracked, wet concrete, pant leg whipping in the wind and rain and getting soaked; and the other half of him was behind it, cradled safe behind the railing. Holding him back, holding him safe. Sane.

The wind, harsh as it cut around the building, had a sobering effect as it bit into his skin. Adam breathed, turning over the flavors of the air on his tongue. Filling up his lungs, that was life, thicker than smog. And he felt that this was good, this was right. This was how things should be, the way Jade would want them.

Jade. The thought of Jade made him ache with grief. Jade, the man he loved. Would he find out this way? The truth of Adam’s identity, a shredded meat painting on the sidewalk?

No, that wasn’t right. But at the same time, how could he pull back from that wind, lifting his soul and his stomach? How could he say no to the promises he tasted in that perfect wind?

A note, Adam decided. He could write Jade a note. Surely the wind would wait for him to scribble down a few words.

Adam pulled himself away, stumbling back inside. He opened a bottle of gin on the way to the kitchenette counter, something to drink while he wrote.

He sipped it and smiled, looking for a pen. The gin burned and in its biting flavor, Adam could taste the wind.

Seizing upon both pen and paper, Adam settled down to write.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	27. Each Ventricle, Hung With Oranges

_Jade, my love:_  

_I haven’t been honest with you. Of course I haven’t been; you were right about me all along. But I lied before I knew you. It was a stupid, selfish thing, never meant to hurt you. I didn’t know you, didn’t know I’d love you. I never meant to do that, Jade; it’s selfish but I’m glad, so glad, that I did. Did this to both of us. Because it meant that I got to love you. Got to know you, got to feel the perfection—the reason. For life, Jade. For living, for breathing. For dying. For everything. Just by loving you._

_My name, my real name, is Adam Carson. But that’s not who I am—not anymore. All I am, anymore, is yours. Who I was—who Adam Carson was—was an actor. Lowest of the low, Jade. An actor with an empty head and an empty heart._

_I could try to blame my mother for drinking, my father for hurting me the way he did, for going to prison and leaving us poor. I could try to blame Hunter, say that in the beginning, it was he that wanted it, that wanted more than that stupid commercial, that pointless cereal ad that started this whole fucked-up thing. I could say I didn’t know better, couldn’t help it, that by the time I knew what was happening it was too late. But that’s not true. The truth is, Jade, that I liked it, needed it. Lights so bright they numbed everything, stripped down and photographed from every angle, showing them everything but the truth. They knew me, Jade; knew my shell. Didn’t expect more than my face, thought that that was all there was. No hurt, no pain, nothing but blue eyes and flashbulbs. I don’t expect you to understand the way I needed that. The money didn’t hurt—the money got me away. But I was selling myself, Jade. It used to be believed that cameras would steal your soul—I don’t know by who, but you would. They do, Jade; I became hollow, numb. Every movie, every photograph stealing another part of me, taking and taking until nothing was left. Until I forgot that I was human._

_We all die, Jade, a little bit every day. We each have our own small way of dying. It’s how we stay alive, how we protect ourselves. You pushed people away; I sold tickets and gave them a tour, shepherded them inside, letting their shallow stupidity fill up all the emptiness. Till I forgot what it meant to be human, what it was to feel. God, that was bliss. So lost, so cold, so empty. I think you know the feeling._

_But it wasn’t good, Jade. I thought it was but it wasn’t what I needed, never what I needed. My life meant nothing before you. You gave me something I was never meant to have. I lied to protect that. You made me hate my old self, my old life—my love for you changed me. It made me better. Made me remember hurt and warmth and love. Made me whole again._

_You don’t have to believe me, don’t have to understand. But without you, I am nothing. I am hollow, that meaningless shell. Left with only my hurt, everything light taken away. I can’t go back to the way I used to be. Seven bottles and I can still feel; seven broken bottles on the sidewalk and I can still feel every shard, every kiss, every smile. Every time you told me to fuck myself, Jade, and I’m laughing now. God, I love you. Did you ever believe me, when I said that? Did you ever know how much it meant, how much I feel? It’s so much, Jade, so much that I’m afraid I’m going to explode, I’m going to die. I love you so much. You have to feel this. I’m drowning, and it’s good. It’s so good. It’s incredible. I am nothing, would never be anything, except that I love you. My God, Jade, you have to see that I love you._

_I would do anything to hold onto this, hold onto that love. That’s why I did it, Jade; that’s why I kissed that girl. Reporters, they were fucking buzzing everywhere. They were going to ruin you and Smith. The two best—no, goodest—people that I know. Your pure, perfect lives. They were going to take that away. Because of me! Because I dared love you. I had to kiss her to keep them away from you. You have to understand. I never wanted to hurt you. It’s no excuse, I know that now. I should have killed them, wish I had; should have killed that man at the restaurant, the very first one who came near you. I should have done something, done anything, to keep them away from you. Anything but this; anything but what I did._

_I know that I had to do what I did. But I wish I hadn’t done it. I’m crying, Jade. It’s been so long since I’ve cried like this; did it always feel this way? The way the tears come down your cheeks, pushing through layers of dead skin and dulled nerves, finding an electric path to your heart? Making you clean again, slicing through the dirt and lies and skin to your core? I don’t remember it feeling this way. I don’t remember anything, anymore. The only thing I can see, the only thing I can think, is you. I’m losing my mind. You’re all I can see, and I can never see you again. You won’t let me, I know that. You’ll see what I did and you’ll hate me but you won’t—you won’t just get out of my fucking HEAD._

_Betraying you, Jade, in that one more way—Alicia, God, I’m going to be sick—that destroyed me. You can tell, can’t you? I’m broken. Helpless. Can barely keep the pieces together long enough to write this. Gin—I need more gin. I need the world to stop moving so much; I need to finish this. I need you to know all the reasons you don’t love me, can’t love me; all the reasons I love you. I need you to see and feel and know exactly who and what I am right now, in this moment._

_I am yours. Body and mind and soul, everything I am, it belongs to you._

_And I know—I know what you think of me. The right thing to do, what you’d want. I owe you that much, Jade. I owe you so much more, but maybe that’s all I can give you._

_No! It’s not. I have so much, Jade, more than the new curtains and the grocery money and the toothpaste. You have no idea how much I have. No matter how much of it I’ve given away, I can’t get rid of it. More and more keep coming. You can have everything I’ve called my own; it, like me, belongs to you. Maybe Smith can open his store. God knows I’ve got enough to keep any failed idea afloat. Look what it did for me, in the end. Nothing._

_Maybe it can help you, though. I have three houses, counting the one in Ukiah—you can get out, if you like. Live somewhere else, somewhere new. No more just living what you know, Jade—go see the world. Feel it. Live life while you have it. You’re so perfect, so pure—stop being so afraid. Hunter—you know about Hunter—he can help you. You can sell the houses, sell everything, I don’t care—go to college, go to Europe, anything. Do what you’ve been dreaming about all your life. The only dreams I have that have ever mattered are you, my love._

_I know you can’t love me, not once you know. I know the money won’t change that. The truth about me. The way you have to feel. And if you can’t love me, then all I’m left with are the meaningless shards of my own life. And I can’t live that way, not anymore._

_I’m drunk, Jade, so I might not make much sense. But I love you, and I’m sorry. I wanted you to hear it from me, not my body on the sidewalk all these stories down. I’m not scared, Jade; nothing will hurt, not after losing you. I’ve loved you, Jade, so nothing can hurt me._

_Even if you hate me and spit on my grave (and if anyone has a right to it’s you, you and a thousand other people I’ve selfishly hurt but most of all, more than the rest, you), Jade, please remember that I loved you. From my ashes, you can build your wings. Don’t do it because I love you, do it because you hate me. Spite me, Jade; become more beautiful than ever before. Live and love and find everything I couldn’t give you, and then come back to where I’m buried and laugh._

_Maybe then you can forgive me._

_I’m sorry, Jade. I’m so sorry._

_But God, do I love you. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop doing that._

_Adam_

 

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>


	28. The Very Best Act

Adam leaned back, reading over the sloppy letter. The words wouldn’t stay still. They were blurry, almost wet-looking.

Adam brought his hand to his eyes, felt the tears there. He must still be crying, he realized.

Suddenly there was pounding at his door. Who was knocking now? Who had business with a dead man?

Adam felt terribly weary, scarcely able to lift himself from his seat at the kitchenette counter. The letter had exhausted him; it was everything he had left to say, to think, to feel. Couldn’t they let him meet his fate in peace?

The pounding continued as Adam stumbled to the door, throwing it open wide. Who was there didn’t matter; nothing could touch him now.

He had never been so wrong.

Framed in the doorway, angry but resplendent, was Jade. His love. His only love.

“Jade,” he slurred softly. “Jade, what are you doing here?”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. And how had Jade found him? Adam wondered what had brought him here, made stupid by the alcohol and the wind.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Jade asked back, tone hard and unforgiving.

Adam gestured dumbly towards the letter he’d just written and then cried out. “Jade, I—”

Jade, however, clearly was not here to wait for Adam to stumble through an apology. “What can you possibly have left to say to me?” Jade yelled, pushing his way into Adam’s suite. His eyes fell upon the open bottle of gin, more than two-thirds full. “You’re _drunk_?” he shrieked, whirling back around and gaining decibels, putting a hand and each of Adam’s shoulders and pushing as hard as he could.

Even drunk, even crying, even heartbroken, Jade was no match for Adam. He only lurched backwards, steadying himself surprisingly quickly, not very affected by the shove. Even so, it hurt him, wounded him in some deep part of his mind that had been untouched for so long.

Fine. Jade wanted to yell? He could yell.

“Fuck you, Jade! I love you!” Adam shouted over Jade’s newest rant. Quieting a bit as Jade fell silent, he repeated vehemently, “I fucking _love_ you. That’s all I can give you, Jade. You were right about me. I’m sorry but there’s nothing else I can fucking SAY! There’s no way I can make this up to you—”

Jade swung, then; his open palm colliding hard with Adam’s unshaven cheek. “You’re a liar!” he bellowed, eyes flashing, not heeding the way Adam reeled from the blow, far more drastic a reaction than Jade’s small strength should have solicited, especially from a man built like Adam. “You’re a fucking ACTOR. Every fucking word you’ve ever said to me has been just another ACT!”

If only Jade could have seen one of Adam’s movies, some small part of Adam said, he would have known that wasn’t true. He was, all things considered, terrible at love scenes—they were the only takes that were done again and again, each director trying fruitlessly to get sincerity out of Adam’s ‘I love you’s. There was no comparison between the way he acted and the way he was with Jade. Maybe years from now, Jade would catch some butchered love scene, flipping channels; it might take years, but maybe he’d know. Maybe someday he’d know Adam had meant it, really had loved him. Loved him so much it hurt, left him bloody and helpless. Maybe Smith would show him; or maybe he’d die thinking Adam had lied to him. It was out of his hands, now. There was nothing he could do.

Jade, meanwhile, was waiting for a rebuttal. But Adam was slumped on the ground, having slid down the wall into a heap, eyes blank and pale as he relived every open-handed hit his father had ever delivered. Spinning, blinding smacks, harder than Jade’s by tenfold, leaving his ears ringing from the shouts and the blow. But no bruise, never any fucking bruise. That hadn’t been his father’s style.

Adam’s body shuddered, mind far away, as he traced over the scar just above his last rib. That night, he remembered, his rather had been out on parole for only three weeks. Adam, nine, had left his bike in the driveway. His mother and father had been fighting, another screaming match that all the neighbors would have heard if they weren’t already involved in their own. His father had left in a hurry, backing out of the driveway in the beat-up Firebird that had lost its muffler two winters ago, still screaming and threatening Adam’s mother. From the end of the driveway, where he was sitting quietly and drawing with chalk even though it was too dark to see what he was doing, trying hard not to hear them, Adam could see her, silhouetted behind the screen door, screaming back and holding one of the big kitchen knives.

“You’d better get the fuck away from here, and fast! I’m calling the goddamn cops the second you’re gone!” she’d been screaming. Mad, drunk, never a good driver anyway, his father had never seen the bike. Handlebars screeching, crushed, twisted and unusable, scraping the undercarriage of the Firebird in a way it didn’t need. Adam had been on his feet instantly; the car had stopped dead, engine sputtering as his father ripped out the keys. Silent, deadly silent, much worse than yelling, he’d gotten out of the car, towering over Adam, this man he barely knew but was expected to love.

Adam’s lower lip had been quivering, eyes filling with tears. “My bike,” he’d whispered. And then, as his father remained silent, he got angry. An apology! Didn’t he deserve an apology? It was his bike, not new by any means but the nicest thing he owned. “Hey! That was my bike!” he yelped, juvenile voice high and panicked.

His father had hit him, hard, across the face; Adam had only yelled louder. His father had hit him in the stomach, doubled him over, dragged him by one arm up the driveway, scraping up his back and neck while he screamed, into the house; the rest was a blur. The kitchen, he remembered that, cramped and dingy with a flickering fluorescent light. The pocketknife his father always kept in the pocket of his leather jacket, glinting in the light; hit, again, the other cheek; and while everything swam, while he screamed “I hate you, I hate you” and swung at the big man with his tiny, harmless hands, each blow brushed away like no more than a gust of wind, while he cried and hated and couldn’t see, ice had entered him, in that same place, that same spot, in between his last two ribs, quick in and out. Ice and paralysis, freezing and crying and numb; his mother, in the room, screaming; bleeding; lights, too bright, police cars; an ambulance; a hospital and questions and hurt; stitches, bleeding, and finally oblivion; and his father had been gone, then, gone for a long time, not coming back until Adam was almost twelve. What he remembered best was the pain, the cold ice; it spread through his stomach, now, as he sat helpless and looked at Jade. The one he loved. Jade, who’d never seen that scar. Maybe he’d felt it under his fingers, but he hadn’t asked. Would never know. Couldn’t know how much that slap had hurt.

Adam’s tears came harder now.

Jade’s voice raised to a yell in his ear again, but Adam couldn’t hear the words. He had all the answer he ever needed. Jade had hit him. You did not hit people you loved. You did not drag them into the kitchen and put a knife in between their ribs, you did not beat them until they sobbed and snot came down their face, you did not come strolling back in three years later, sleeping with their mother and buying them gifts and pretending to be a real man when really it was just a matter of days before the screaming started again, before you pushed your son too hard so he stumbled forward, flailing with hands to catch himself, finding only the lit burners on the stove. You did not have to hide from the people that you loved, didn’t have to fear them.

Jade didn’t love him.

“Why won’t you say anything?” yelled Jade, overwhelmed with frustration and tears. He hadn’t meant to hit Adam, not really, didn’t know it would do this to him. It was just a slap, really—what had possibly upset him so much? His mind raced, rationalizing, grasping wildly at anything that would keep him anchored here, whole, keep him off his knees and hold back the sobs for just a little longer, just till he got to the elevator.

He knew only that Adam didn’t love him, wasn’t moving. “Won’t you even fight for me?” he begged, angry and panting and crying, desperate. So desperate. Somehow, until this moment, he hadn’t felt it—hadn’t known that everything was ending.

Adam finally looked up, eyes gone dark. “You made your choice,” he said, and his voice seemed very far away. “You don’t love me. If you don’t love me, why does it matter if I lied? If I was who I said, if I meant it, if I loved you—none of that matters if you don’t love me. If you don’t love me, why do you even fucking care? Whether who you met was the real me or an act, why does it even fucking matter if you don’t love me?”

“I never said I did,” whispered Jade, voice small, knowing even as he said it that he did, he loved Adam more than he ever had or ever would love anyone, anything. Suddenly he was losing. He’d been so right, so justified just moments ago—how had everything gone so wrong? If he was right, then Adam’s words—more lies, he tried to think, but knew that his own words were the only lie in the room right now—wouldn’t be hurting him like this.

Adam didn’t even hear Jade. They both knew, now, that Jade had loved him well enough; it had nothing to do with what words he may or may not have said. But Adam’s cheek was smarting, his yellow ridge of scar tingling, and that made it clear he could expect no forgiveness or understanding from this new creature, this new Jade, the one he’d been to blind to see before.

Of course, he didn’t deserve any forgiveness, any love. His mind turned back to the wind. It didn’t matter, not anymore. Their love was dead, his Jade with it. What could follow but his own?

Adam waited for Jade to leave, sobbing and swearing, cold fury faded into the truth. Truth Adam would have seen, if he’d been looking. The painfully evident truth that no man would cry like that if he wasn’t losing the one he still very much loved.

Once he was alone again, Adam downed the rest of the gin, choking a little bit. Some of the burning drink bubbled down his chin, soaking his shirt. He rolled up the letter and stuffed it into the bottle. It didn’t matter now. Adam hurled it over the balcony, mind far away. He’d learned young how to separate himself from his pain, to follow his thoughts to a cold, hollow place where he felt nothing.

Adam watched the bottle fall, end over end, and then walked into the bedroom to change. It wouldn’t do, to die in a shirt stained with gin, sloppy and unshaven. No, he would die with honor, like a man rather than a star-crossed lover. The phrase made him chuckle; star-crossed. Betrayed by fate, that’s what that meant, didn’t it? But that was a lie. It wasn’t fate that had it in for him. Fate didn’t even exist. This was just the way things were, his own doing. Fate? Fate was a joke, something to console yourself with. An elaborate scapegoat.

Adam shook his head, clearing his thoughts and heading into the bathroom. He would wash his face, shave, change his clothes—and then. Then he would return to the wind, to the earth. Die a respectable death, his blood staining the doorman’s shoes.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	29. The Shards Formed The Shapes Of The Stars

When Jade stepped out onto the pavement, the first thing he noticed was the glass. A thousand glittering shards, bright as diamonds and reeking of—gin. Gin. Wasn’t that what Adam had been drinking?

Jade shook his head hard. So what if Adam had been drinking gin? It wasn’t like that mattered anymore. Adam—the sooner he forgot about Adam, who had never loved him, the better off he’d be.

Then he noticed it. A ragged, damp page lay unfurled, plastered to the sidewalk, covered in splinters of glass. Something possessed Jade to pick it up gingerly, wary of the glass slivers. He felt his knees go weak, reading the first line.

 _Jade, my love_.

Why had he found this paper first, known to pick it up? Why had it landed here, just moments before he came across it, directly in his path?

It had to be fate, he decided.

Heart caught in his throat, Jade read Adam’s letter quickly, crying out in grief before the end. “No, Adam!” he whispered. “I love you, you idiot. Of course I do.”

He scanned to the end, something metallic stinging just behind his tongue. His voice was hoarser as he repeated, a low and tortured moan, “Adam, _no_. Why didn’t you just _say_ this to me?”

He ran back towards the hotel, urgency pressing into his lungs till it became difficult to breathe. His heart was beating much too fast, painfully high in his chest.  
He was skidding through the lobby, much to Barbie’s dismay, when something lurched deep in him.

 _No_ , something whispered. _Outside_.

As he started to turn, everything inside him started screaming. _No, don’t look, don’t look—_

Jade turned around just in time to see—nothing. There was nothing outside, no horrific scepter, no pale wash of ambulance lights. _Crazy_ , Jade resolved, taking a deep breath as he tried to swallow around the panic lodged in his throat. _I must be—_

A sickening thump shook the ground beneath his feet.

Adam’s body had been in the air for less than a second, and now it was limp and still and thick with blood on the sidewalk.

Jade’s feet carried him outside, stopping only when the first surge of blood hit his shoes, thin from the rain, spotting clear in those dark puddles and pulling it into the gutter, swirling and draining away. He gaped at Adam, at what had once been Adam and now was only meat. Broken-necked, head a warm sunken orb that had burst like a rotten fruit. Blood soaking that blue shirt of his, his favorite jeans. Blood and that never-ending rain. Perfect smile shattered in his soft, soft head, falling open and spilling his secrets to the street for the rain to steal.

Jade was kneeling. He didn’t know when he’d fallen to his knees, but there he was, on the ground. His hands stroked the few bloody stands of Adam’s hair that weren’t matted down by the horrible silky stuff that was coming from what had been his _head_ , held Adam’s shattered sticky fingers, slick with rain and blood and flecks of— _what was that_ — and begged his lifeless body to respond to his touch.

“Get up,” he heard someone whimpering. “Get up. Please. You have to. I love you and we have to go home now.” Was that his voice? Who was he talking to? This limp chunk of meat?

Jade slowly began to hear the screams, the crying. His screams? His tears, certainly, but he didn’t think he was screaming. Of course—there would be others. This was the fucking sidewalk and the world was always getting in the way, couldn’t ever just let them have their peace, always had to ruin them. Well, not this time. Let them scream.

Jade was surprised to see rain dotting his skin, clean and clear. Not blood, not glass, but even this smelled of gin. It soaked his clothes, dark in some places, brown—that must be blood—and his hair, dripping down his face till it was indistinguishable from tears.

And that damn screaming wouldn’t stop. He laid his head on Adam’s collapsed, damp chest, pretending to be safe in his arms one more time. He cried into Adam’s broken body, tears only adding to the horrible dark wet of his shirt, not even smelling like Adam, instead this terrible metal and rain and somehow, _somehow_ gin.

Or was he just imagining that? Would he ever stop smelling the gin? God, he just wanted to lay here forever, lay here with Adam. He wanted to smell his shampoo, touch his cheek, snuggle into him and warm his feet on the curves of Adam’s impossibly solid legs—

Then there were hands, pulling him away, taking him from Adam. From his love. No one recognized the famous face now. No paparazzi were trying to take their private, perfect life now.

Fuck them. Fuck all of them. They wanted Adam, well, here was their precious fucking Adam! And this was what they’d done to him. This was all he was, now. Fucking ground beef. And it was their fucking fault.

He tired to explain to the hands, “I have to stay. He doesn’t do anything half. When he falls, he falls hard. So fucking hard, from twenty-four stories! Can’t you see how hard he fell? He fucking loved me!”

Jade reached back toward the body, just wanting to feel the cold, soft lumps of those broken fingers because maybe, just maybe, if he held them long enough they’d become strong and smooth and warm again and they’d grip his hand and Adam would gasp for air and they could rush him to the hospital and he’d be all right, he’d be okay, he’d be alive and smiling and years, years from now, they would laugh about how Jade’s tears and the blood and the rain and that goddamned smell of metal and gin that he hadn’t been able to wash off his hands for days made it seem so final, so terrifying.

The hands, which led to very strong arms, kept pulling, not letting him go back to what had once been Adam and now was just bleeding into the street with steam rising off it in the terrible, cruel rain. “He’s gone, sir,” the muted voice of a paramedic came from behind Jade. “Please, we have to get out of the way so they can put your friend to rest.”

Jade stopped fighting. Gone. Now that was a word.

Adam, his Adam, was gone.

Again, as he now knew they always would, Jade’s own words came back to haunt him, the same way that awful smell of blood and gin in the rain always would, the same way years from now he’d open his wallet and there, for a second, would be the smell of Adam’s skin, the sweet warm smell, and before Jade’s eyes like he was still standing here there would be the gutters, overflowing with rain and dark, dark blood, what was left of his only love flooding the streets, staining the sidewalk so that people would walk over the spot every day, never knowing what the mark was from, that one final second screaming forever into a beautiful, bleeding infinity. This time, he knew the truth, about Adam and his pretty blue eyes, a truth neither of them had realized in time—

That Adam, his Adam, had been lonelier than either of them had ever imagined.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
>  
> 
> (Ending One)


	30. You're Still Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Ending Two begins here, picking up immediately after Chapter 25: Suite 416****

Adam frowned, tipping the bottle back further. Empty? It couldn’t be empty so soon.

He let his fingers slip from around its neck and it plummeted down from the balcony. Adam imagined the sound it made, hitting the ground and shattering, would be similar to his heartbeat.

His thoughts ran circles. He’d cheated on Jade by kissing Alicia. But he’d kissed Alicia to keep Jade out of the papers. He’d betrayed the man he loved–and it he’d done it, done everything, for the same man. Jade, his Jade.

“What have you done to me?” he moaned, low in his throat. His head reeled. He didn’t even know who he was anymore, he was so wrapped up in Jade. Jade’s fingers, Jade’s eyes, the soft smell of Jade that clung to him, sometimes staying on his clothes after they’d parted, the way his voice changed when he was annoyed…

Adam knew how the bottle had sounded, knew the shards of half the mini-bar littered the Los Angeles sidewalks. But now, as he looked down twenty-four stories, he wondered what sound he would make; a thick dull slap of meat. Would he splatter? Would you hear that the same way you heard the glass?

He was sick, crazy, consumed. Jade was his every thought, his only thought. The only reason he was here, poised on this balcony. The only reason he was in this hotel, in Los Angeles, in the world. Why was he alive, if not for Jade?

“Stop it,” he murmured, dragging his palm across his eyes. “Goddamn you, get out of my head. Let me–just let me think.”

Adam stood, lining up his feet with the balcony railing, breaths coming deep and hard. Drunk, unsteady, he wrapped his hands around the rail as he eased his left foot over, half on the tiny lip on the other side of the railing, slipping on the bolts and cracked, wet concrete, pant leg whipping in the wind and rain and getting soaked; and the other half of him was behind it, cradled safe behind the railing. Holding him back, holding him safe. Sane.

The wind, harsh as it cut around the building, had a sobering effect as it bit into his skin. Adam breathed, turning over the flavors of the air on his tongue. Filling up his lungs, that was life, thicker than smog. And he felt that this was good, this was right. This was how things should be, the way Jade would want them.

Jade. The thought of Jade made him ache with grief.

Jade, the man he loved. Would he find out this way? The truth of Adam’s identity, a shredded meat painting on the sidewalk?

 _Fuck Jade_ , part of Adam, the old part of Adam, spat furiously. What kind of man was he, sobbing on his fucking balcony and contemplating suicide? Adam shuddered at the word. What kind of fucking degenerate was he? No one was worth this. His was fucking Adam Carson. He was better than this high school shit.

If Jade didn’t want him, fine. He’d lived that way before; he could live that way again. What was Jade? In the long run? Three months out of twenty-some years, what did that amount to?

Adam shook his head, hard, and stepped back from the balcony. He looked disgustedly at the bottle in his hand—weakness, that was all it was—and threw it, as far and as hard as he could. That was the only thing that would be hitting the pavement today, he decided firmly, almost sneering. What was love? What was anything, so paled next to life?

He slammed the sliding glass door hard behind him, trailing the mess of rain and gin he was into the shower. He’d clean himself the hell up and get on with his life. Jade loved him, didn’t he? Maybe he hadn’t said it, maybe he hadn’t dared—but if Adam called him, right now, in an hour, in three days, Jade would come. That might not be love, but it was something. Dangling twenty-six stories above the rest, it was still something.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



	31. If It Makes You Less Sad

Jade took a deep breath and clasped his hands tightly together. 413 was one of the only doors in the entire hallway; that Adam was holed up in a hotel room that enormous killed any doubts he might have had. Adam was exactly who he’d pretended not to be.

His hands were shaking too much to knock properly, so his only other choice was obviously to kick the door as hard as he possibly fucking could and hope to whatever gods existed that Adam would have to pay for the scuff marks.

“Oh my God,” Adam’s exasperated yelp came rushing towards the door. “There’s these things called hinges, they—”

Adam ripped the door open, dripping wet and naked.  
 _Great. Fucking great._

Jade nearly choked on his tongue, which he was quite certain was dangling somewhere in the direction of the floor, as he quickly amended his initial observations. Glistening abs and collar bone he’d only seen before in his very best fantasies aside, Adam was NOT entirely naked. He was attempting to hold a shred of a hotel towel around his waist. Jade scolded himself for his immediate delight when said excuse of a towel started to slip.

“Oh. Jade,” Adam said, ducking his head and blushing, flicking a bit of very wet hair out of his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he added, hoping Jade couldn’t smell the gin, didn’t notice what effect his very presence was already beginning to have immediately below towel-level.

“No fucking duh,” Jade spat, voice high and catty as a high schooler. Adam cocked his head slightly to one side and stepped back, ushering Jade inside.

Adam shifted his weight just enough to send the towel slipping a few extra millimeters. Jade sucked in his breath, cursing every part of his body, and tried not to gape at the now-exposed perfect ridge of Adam’s left hip bone.

“Somehow I don’t think a hello kiss would be welcome,” Adam said uncertainly, utterly confused by the vibes Jade was broadcasting. He could feel the heat pouring from the younger man, see lust pooling up in the huge brown eyes—but at the same time, the tendons in Jade’s slender neck were strained, his teeth gritted, face twisted. Agitated, he ripped his fingers through his hair and, Adam couldn’t help but notice, tried very hard to look away.

“Well done, Miss Cleo!” Jade snapped, glowering fiercely at the carpet. He tried to muster his anger, but every articulate accusation he’d been brimming with just moments earlier had been replaced by the glow from Adam’s golden skin. “You’ve noticed something about another human being! You deserve a trophy!”

“Jade,” Adam said, voice low and confused. “What’s going on?” His eyes were dark, guarded. It made Jade angry, that Adam would be careful, would attempt not to make him madder. That he would be considerate. What a fucking asshole.

“No, not a trophy—how about an _Oscar_!” Jade was prattling, venom thick in his tone. But a man articulate and caustic as Jade Puget would normally have something far better, far more effective, to say.

Still, childish or not, Jade’s petty attack filled Adam with truth. Jade knew. Somehow, Jade had found out.

“Jade?” Adam asked. “Is this about what I think it is?”

“Let me guess,” Jade snarled, flinging himself down on the expensive Italian couch that perfectly accented the color scheme of the suite. “You can explain.”

He knew that he was behaving like a child, refusing to make eye contact and hurling accusations. But he didn’t know how else to be. Everything he’d known, everything he’d taken as truth in the last few months, had been ripped away from him. He was desperate. He didn’t know what else to do and so, for the first time in years, he did nothing more than act his age. He was a boy, a young, stupid boy, with a broken heart. He wasn’t clever enough to be anything else. He had nothing left.

Adam knelt in front of Jade, placing a hand on either side of him. Jade resisted the urge to cross his arms across his chest and stared fiercely at his knees.

“Yes,” Adam pleaded, voice low and soft. “Yes, Jade, I can.”

Jade didn’t move. Adam took a deep breath, winced for a split second, and dove in.

“My explanation? Well, there’s two. One is what I’d like to say. The other is what you want to hear. Let’s start with the second, shall we?”

He paused a moment, hoping Jade would look at him. When his gaze remained riveted to the denim of his jeans, Adam went on, “You were right about me. I’m a lying bastard, the scum of the earth. I’m an actor; but I’m sure you know that by now. I’m an actor and I cheated on you and I’ve been lying all this time.”

“You fucking—” Jade’s yell was cut off, strangled by a sob, and he fell silent.

One tear fell, darkening the fabric Jade was studying so intently. Adam watched it unfold there for a moment before lifting a hand to Jade chin, tugging it up till their eyes met.

“The other goes like this,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “I love you. I have always loved you. What I did was wrong, but I’d do it all again, if it meant I got to love you. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you; I didn’t know I could fall in love. I never meant to lie to you. You were the first person who hadn’t recognized me in—God, it was years, Jade. You didn’t see my widescreen ass or my trademark eyes or my clumsy love scenes. When you looked at me, you just saw some dumbfuck asshole trying to impress you with the way he talked. And you didn’t fall for it for a second. God, it was like breathing again. It was like I’d been drowning my whole life, didn’t even remember what air was… and you were such a fucking dickhead! God, it was everything I’d ever needed. _You_ , Jade, were everything I’d ever needed.”

Adam paused, gathered himself, and looked hard into Jade’s eyes. There were huge, bottomless, and terrified. “Yes, I cheated on you. I cheated on you on the front page of fucking People magazine. Do you think I’m fucking proud of that? I’m not, Jade! I’m not!”

“Then why’d you do it?” Jade yelped, voice thin but loud. He stared hate at Adam. He _hated_ him, the fucking scum.

Adam’s grip tightened, forcing Jade to keep looking into his eyes. There wasn’t any grey, now; there was just blue, hard and fierce, blue that got in the way of Jade’s heartbeat and made it hard to breathe.

“I’d do it again, Jade!” Adam yelled, hands shaking and voice dropping down to almost a whisper. “I’d do it again in a second. Do you know what they were going to fucking do to you? There were going to be papers, Jade. There were going to be newspapers and tabloids. There were reporters, Jade, circling like fucking vultures. Of course they found out where I was hiding! Of course they were going to ruin you.”

Jade tried to jerk his head away and again, Adam stopped him. “I am not him,” Adam said slow, voice hard and unwavering. “I am not that man. I couldn’t sit there and watch them destroy you. I had to do something big, something loud, something to keep you out of their greasy claws forever.”

“And this was your brilliant solution?” Jade spat, tears falling faster. There was something horrible and hollow inside him, something empty and thick and swirling terribly.

“No, Jade,” Adam said, calm and utterly serious. “I was also going to kill myself.”

Jade was silent for a moment, revulsion poisoning his sweet brown eyes. “ _You’re disgusting_ ,” he hissed. “To use that—to make me pity you, it’s—”

“Fuck you, Jade!” Adam yelled, dropping Jade’s face and whirling away, towel left behind. Adam didn’t care. He was mad, now, blood pounding in his ears; and desperate.

Love. Fucking love. Didn’t that mean anything? What the hell did Jade want from him? He’d already given him everything. “I fucking _love_ you, okay? What the hell was I supposed to do? Is anything good enough for you? I am not Adam Carson, not the one you saw on TV. I’m just Adam, your Adam, nothing special or shining or rich. Do you know what you’ve done to me? God, I’m so in love with you that I was ready to fling myself off a fucking balcony! But you don’t want to hear that, don’t want the truth—not everything is a lie, Jade! Not everyone is trying to fucking hurt you!”

Jade was stunned, not even crying, as he stared open-mouthed at Adam’s back. Adam slammed his fist against the wall he was leaning on, letting a half-scream of pure frustration escape. “God _damn_ it,” he muttered softly, letting his head hang down between his shoulders.

Jade got to his feet slowly, at first, still trying to process all that Adam had said. Could there possibly be an explanation for all of it? An explanation that, while maybe not good enough, was the truth?

He sucked in his breath, hard. What the fuck did it matter? He knew what he felt, right now. It wasn’t betrayal, wasn’t that self-righteous ostentation of anger that had consumed him before. There was something deep, something aching, more than hurt and depth and darkness. It was more than there were words for, something dizzying and uncontrollable, something that took his breath away if he let himself merely _feel_.

If that wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what the hell all those stupid movies were about. If that wasn’t love, he didn’t know why no one had shot Elton John in the head for being such a fucking liar. If that wasn’t love… if that wasn’t love, then there was no such thing.

His mind came back to him just as he laid a hand, so small and so gentle a touch Adam barely felt it, on the firm, air-drying slope of Adam’s shoulder blade. He wasn’t sure when, exactly, he’d crossed the room, or why he’d done it, but now that he was there, there was only one thing left for him to do.

“What are you trying to do, Adam? Right now, right here? Today and every day, what have you been trying to do?”

“At first? At first I just wanted to feel again, to know what it was to be a human,” Adam said quietly, not looking up, roughness in his voice indicating tears. “But now… now the only fucking thing I’m trying to do, the only fucking thing that even matters anymore, is to love you. Will you let me do that, Jade? Can you?”

There was bitterness in his voice, an undeniable trace of hurt. But there was also a warmth so staggering that Jade wanted to cling to it, curl up in its goodness and never let go, till it slipped away or his life ended, whichever came first.

“I don’t know,” he admitted slowly. “But I do know that I can’t leave. I can’t just walk away from you, Adam. This is a mess, this is a ridiculous fucking mess, but—but I love you.”

Adam turned, not caring after all these years and all this time that he wasn’t wearing anything, and pulled Jade tight into his chest. “Well, that’s a start,” he whimpered weakly into Jade’s hair, kissing away the tears that landed on Jade’s neck. “That’s a fucking start.”

And then they just stood there, terrified of losing the tattered shred of hope they’d found, here, in each other; and Jade wrapped his arms around Adam, completing the circle, and held on like a man who knew what love was, a man who wasn’t afraid of ever having to let go.

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=4114>  



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